


I Still See Your Face

by spideysmjs



Series: Count to Ten [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Michelle's P.O.V., Slow Burn, Spider-Man's Back from Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-10-26 23:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: Michelle throws her coin in the fountain and drops to her head on his shoulder, letting the tears she’d been holding back all day fall down her face.“I wish it wasn’t so fucking hard to love me.”Assigned to discover more about Spider-Man's return, Michelle Jones finds herself running into her unrequited college love, Peter Parker.





	1. the fountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from I Still See Your Face by San Holo.
> 
> xoxo

Michelle’s running late, which usually is never the case, but she’s taken extra time to get ready because her fiancé, Harry Osborn, is coming home tonight after a two-week business trip, and they have plans to meet at their favorite restaurant on Vanderbilt Avenue to celebrate their (belated) three and a half year anniversary. 

Only a few years ago, when she was younger and more cynical, Michelle never imagined herself to be engaged at 23 going on 24 (very soon) to the CEO of Oscorp, but agendas change and at the end of the day–at the end of everything–it’s her against the world. Throughout her life, she’s learned how to move on and look forward, so she ingests her hard to swallow past and searches for the things that make her happy, like Harry. 

But when her boss at New York Times delivers news that sends her back through time, she’s stuck reminiscing all morning and through her lunch hour. 

“Spider-Man’s back,” her boss says. Michelle swings her chair to face Mr. Johnson, head editor of the department of current events. 

“What?” Michelle furrows her brows at the news. 

“Spider-Man. Two years later, and the guy’s operating. Crazy right?” he flops a small stack of grainy photographs containing New York’s retired (or now, returned) web-slinger scaling the Empire State Building at night. “Taken by the Daily Bugle.” 

“Wow,” is all that escapes from Michelle’s mouth as memories from her years at NYU come flooding back to her head, all the lengthy conversations she’d witnessed between her fiancé and her old friends about _ Spider-Man vs. the Daily Bugle_, the limitations or exceptions to the superhero’s powers, and reasons as to why he had disappeared those many years ago. 

“You still with me, Jones?” her boss snaps her back to reality. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah… Yes,” she straightens her back and slides the pictures away from her, shaking away her thoughts about the past. 

“So you’ll be on this then?”

“On it, yes, got it,” she smiles, pretending she hadn’t been too distracted by nostalgia to listen to her boss. 

“Great. Try to find as many ways to get into contact with Spider-Man and we expect your final draft of this profile in two weeks,” Mr. Johnson walks away warning her, “We want to be the first one to release an exposé on his return, alright?”

“Right,” Michelle says. 

Crap.

She has no idea how to talk to Spider-Man. If it weren’t for her need to please higher-ups in hopes to land a promotion within the next year (re: Her Five Year Plan), she wouldn’t have turned into the New York Times’ yes-woman of the year. 

For the second time, Michelle thinks back to her two friends from college, Peter Parker and Ned Leeds, who had incredibly incessant knowledge about Spider-Man and his antics and assumes they could probably find a way to meet with the guy, but her morals on reaching out to people she’s lost touch with just to advance in her job stops her in her tracks. _ Agendas change_, she repeats her personal mantra. 

She ends up scrolling through Ned’s Instagram, a habit she’s forced herself to quit exactly six months after graduating and officially parting ways from her NYU friends. Through her lurking, she’s discovered that Ned and Betty Brant are engaged as well by seeing a photo of Ned surprising Betty at the Eiffel Tower. She sees that Ned has his own start-up company, and they often attend award shows or charity events with one another due to Betty’s career as Channel 5’s #1 news reporter. Scrolling further down, she sees a photo of Ned and Peter dated July 10th–marking his 24th birthday. To no one’s surprise, he continues to celebrate his birthdays in small settings with friends and Aunt May. This thought brings a warm sensation to her heart that’s quickly taken away when she remembers the last time she was in that same living room celebrating Peter Parker’s birthday. 

Michelle gives herself enough will to log out of Instagram and bangs her head on her desk before grabbing her coat and leaving the office for fresh air and a hot bagel. She steps out into the city and suddenly, her muscle memories take control and walk towards the places she’s once known, like the diner near campus once filled with laughter and bickering with the people she swore she’d have in her life forever.

She fails to fight an overwhelming feeling of loss washing through her as she peers through the window and examines the same chipped paint across the walls that are decorated with old photographs of regulars. Michelle refuses to step inside and leans against the glass wall by the double doors. 

“MJ?” she hears a familiar voice call out an outdated nickname, turning around to face Betty Brant, who has continued her staple fashion sense of sweater vests and pleated skirts. “Oh my gosh, it is you!” 

Betty goes in for a warm embrace, a physical touch that Michelle is no longer familiar with. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since… well, it doesn’t really matter… How are you doing?”

“I’m doing great, Betty. Got a job at the Times, like I’ve always wanted,” Michelle tries to keep the conversation short, “...and I’m engaged to Harry, still, and we’re celebrating our 3 and a half year anniversary tonight.” 

“That’s wonderful, MJ,” she coos as Michelle winces at the nickname, which catches Betty’s attention. “When’s the wedding day?”

The questions strike Michelle because the wedding, ever since the proposal, has not been addressed and organized. Due to Harry’s constant trips in and out of the states, it’s hard to dedicate the moments they _ did _have together for wedding planning. 

“Undecided, really. Taking it slow.” 

“Oh, I see–sorry, didn’t mean to pry on anything. Ned and I just got engaged, as well. We want to get married sometime next summer.” 

Michelle congratulates her, and there’s a long pause of awkward silence that fills the brisk autumn air. 

“Well, I should uh–get going, I’m on the clock,” Michelle mumbles.

“You weren’t going to order anything?” 

“No, just taking a walk and found myself here, so,” she responds. “Did Ned hear about the news? Spider-Man’s back. Must be excited.”

“He and–he won’t stop talking about it,” Betty delivers an endearing eye roll. 

“No one can, and I have to figure out a way to talk to the guy since I was just assigned to do an article on his return. Big news.” 

Another pause.

“Michelle?”

“Yes?”

“I miss you, you know. We should keep in touch,” Betty scribbles down her new number on a napkin from her takeout bag and hands it to her, “Ned’s probably waiting for me for his lunch break too, and I don’t want to keep you any longer either. Enjoy your walk, Michelle.”

For the rest of work, Michelle focuses on forgetting about the past until it’s time for her to clock out of work ready for her date with Harry. She makes a quick stop in the office bathroom to reapply her ruby red lipstick that she knows will stun him the moment he sees her. 

She arrives at the restaurant with 15 minutes to spare, sitting at their usual reserved table. With the time Michelle has left, she ponders different ways to bring up the wedding planning ever since her conversation with Betty, but each time she practices the dialogue in her head, her nerves get the best of her. She never wants to bother Harry about the wedding because Oscorp’s successes have been at an all-time high since taking over the business from his father, who Spider-Man exposed for operating Green Goblin. The same Green Goblin that murdered Peter Parker’s girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. 

It was unfair, really. She had never seen suffering as tragic as Peter Parker’s, the same suffering that became a barrier towards what they had with one another in the years following, the same suffering that Peter never realized bent Michelle until their friendship was too broken to fix. 

Her thoughts ran on a spiral until she realized it was 5:23pm, and Harry still hadn’t arrived. Already clicking his contact information, Michelle waits for the phone to stop ringing.

“Hey, babe,” he answers casually. 

“Where are you, Harry?” her voice flat, waiting for answers. 

“I’m at the office.”

“Seriously?” 

“What’s wrong?”

“So, you just forgot about our plans?”

“...Michelle, I’m sorry. I slept all day from the flight, and when I woke up, my assistant called me and said I needed to file paperwork for the business deal before it’s finalized tomorrow.”

She shut her eyes to avoid tearing up and takes one deep breath before returning to the call.

“It’s fine, Harry.” Without hearing another response, she hangs up her phone and storms out of their favorite restaurant and heads two blocks down to a bar. 

Three martinis in, and she’s chatting with the bartender who’s kindly listening to her vent her frustrations about her lousy fiancé that probably doesn’t even want to marry her anymore, immediately regretting her choice of words and apologizing. The bartender frowns at her sadly and continues to mix drinks for other customers. 

Clouded by alcohol and frustrations, she circles in her barstool slurring her thank you’s to the bar for inventing alcohol before she closes her tab and makes her way to the restroom. As she’s standing in line with her arms crossed, she shivers from the door that’s propped slightly open and peaks outside in the alley. She’s squinting and she sees the figure of a man crouching in a neighboring alley under dim lighting, fashioning a red and black spandex suit. 

Michelle opens the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” door wide open to meet face-to-face with Spider-Man, the person who’s been haunting her entire Wednesday morning. He braces backward into the brick wall with a loud _ thud _ as soon as he sees Michelle.

“You,” she grumbles, wagging her pointer finger to him.

_Me?_ he points to himself without saying a word. 

“Today… I blame it on _ you. _And now you owe me,” she huffs, alcohol slushing in her stomach and brain as she grabs his hand and pulls him away from the alley. She’s gripping tight, already pulling him to the spot she was planning on taking Harry to after their dinner. He hasn’t said a word, following her directions.

Before they know it, they’re standing at the fountain of Washington Square Park. 

* * *

“Harry, what are we doing here?” Michelle’s laughing as Harry takes both of her hands in his, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“I know that this is your favorite place to read when you have the time, so I wanted to ask you an important question… but first, we both should make a wish and throw it in there. We can only reveal what that wish is when it comes true okay?”

Michelle nods and grabs a quarter from Harry’s hands. She closes her eyes, makes a wish for herself, and throws her coin in the fountain as he does the same. 

“Will you be my girlfriend?” 

She’s surprised at his haste, thinking back to the few dates they’ve had, and she looks at Harry and sees a handsome, sweet, and funny guy who’s willing to offer her the world, wanting her to be happy. She sees someone that has never once shied away from telling her what he wanted from the start, someone who never sent mixed signals. And so she nods, yes, she deserves this love. 

“Well, my wish came true, then.”

“Harry Osborn, that was probably the cheesiest thing you’ve ever done,” she giggles, “and I hate that I like it so much? What’s wrong with me?” 

* * *

She rummages through her purse for two coins and shoves one in Spider-Man’s hand, commanding him to make a wish. His lenses close shut and he throws the coin in the fountain.

“You know what I wish for, Spidey? I wish everything wasn’t so _ fucking hard. _I wish I could write about the things that I actually care about because no offense, Spider-Man, doing an exposé on you isn’t the reason why I studied sociology in college.”

A beat.

“I wish I wish that I had someone else to fucking talk to because all I talk to is my co-worker, Cindy, who’s probably really goddamn irritated with me for never shutting up about my stupid _ fiancé.” _

Michelle uses air quotes around the word. She throws her coin in the fountain and drops to her head on Spider-Man’s shoulder, letting the tears she’d been holding back all day fall down her face. 

“I wish it wasn’t so fucking _ hard _ to love me.”

Spider-Man pats her back awkwardly until she stops sobbing, giving her space, still not speaking.

“Thanks for listening. I guess Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man isn't just about stopping crimes,” she sniffles before adjusting to her regular, professional posture. “Oh, and by the way, here’s my business card. I wasn’t lying about that article.” 

Without allowing him to speak, Michelle hands him her card and starts walking away. She hears the _thwip _of his web, and he's gone. She grabs tissues in her back to wipe the running mascara off her face when she comes across the slip of paper Betty handed her earlier that day. 

“Hello?”

“Betty?” 

“Michelle?”

“Can I… stop by… I just… really need someone right now, and um, you mentioned calling you whenever, and I really don’t have anyone else and–”

“Come on over, I’ll make you tea.”

Ned and Betty still live in the same apartment that housed him and Peter years ago, but it’s different. There’s better furniture and appliances, there’s framed photographs of friends and family on the walls, and there’s a lot of plants decorated at various areas of the living room. Yet, the ghost of memories and emotions still plague over Michelle the moment she steps in.

She’s giving herself a small apartment tour as she peeks into the master bedroom that’s clearly furnished and arranged by Betty, and the room next adjacent to it. Her heart beats fast, wondering if Peter still…

“That’s a guest bedroom,” Betty reads her mind as she hands a mug of tea to Michelle. They return to the living room and sit on opposite ends of the couch. “I thought you were going on a date with Harry tonight?” 

“I thought so, too, but…” she takes a sip of green tea, “...he forgot he had work to do, and forgot to tell me that too.”

“Does this happen often?”

“He’s not even in the city enough for it to happen often,” she scoffs. “But, Betty, I don’t want to talk about it, really. I just… I just can’t go home to him right now.”

“Did you want to crash here?” Betty sets her mug down on a coaster and scoots closer to Michelle. She places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay with me.”

“That’d be really, really nice.” 

Betty lends her a set of matching pajamas to change into after they finish catching up, both avoiding the elephant in the room. Michelle finishes changing and decides to thank Betty one more time before sleeping, but when she steps out of the guest room, Ned bursts through the front door. 

“Babe, we just had our first Chairman shift tonight and you will _ not _guess what I just found ou–” Ned and Michelle exchange looks. He changes the topic but remains at the same level of shock. “Michelle Jones. Is that you?” 

“In the flesh, Leeds.” 

“It’s so good to see you! How’ve you been?”

“Could be better,” she shrugs, avoiding the complete truth. “I decided to crash here for a night after running into Betty today.”

Betty thankfully plays along and doesn’t mention the Harry fiasco. 

“That’s great, dude.”

“So what’d you find out?” Michelle insists. Ned’s stunned at her inquisition, mouth open, collecting his thoughts. 

“Uh, I just found a new coding operation that I can learn for my company,” he smiles. 

“That’s… exciting.” Michelle comments. She’s never understood Ned’s computer talk, but his news could be exciting for him and she’s not one to take that away from anyone. “Um, I’m going to bed now, though, and I just want to thank you both for letting me stay.”

The two smile at her in response and Michelle’s heart swells with gratitude knowing that this couple continues to be hospitable and loving despite Michelle’s natural barrier around her, even when they were still close. She’s never had the easiest time creating meaningful connections with others, this was common knowledge, but college had been the peak of her vulnerability, her willingness to open up to others all because of Peter Parker. 

Peter Parker, her best friend, the one she thought she’d one day end up with.

Peter and MJ, MJ and Peter.

It was always them, but it was never the right time. So time passed. She did the thing she does best: she walked away. She built her walls up again, and she let go. 

But maybe it was time to try to be open again, for Ned and Betty at least. Maybe it could help her figure out how to fix things with Harry. 

Michelle tries to take her thoughts and lock it away in the corner of her mind that keeps all unwanted beliefs as she lays in bed for an entire hour going back and forth with herself until she falls into a dreamless slumber.


	2. the flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i'm so sorry i haven't updated in a while. life kind of hit me in the face, and so did writer's block. i also got sidetracked and thought of a different one shot idea, but then i realized that i should really pay more attention to this work.
> 
> i wanted to add that this story is inspired by a foreign film that i really like. very loosely inspired, but the ideas are there and of course i want to give credit to that even though a lot of details have been drastically changed.also, this chapter's very sad. i'm so sorry. mj really deserves the world and i promise that i'll give it to her soon enough...
> 
> comments would be very much appreciated and as a way to apologize for the lack of updates, i'll be releasing the next chapter in a couple of days!

Michelle wakes up from a sharp alarm at 6:30am with a throbbing headache on a queen-sized bed that isn’t hers inside a room with unfamiliar walls. She slowly sits up with the pain of last night still tugging on her heartstrings like a knock on the front door of an abandoned home. The walls around her are eggshell white decorated with frames that give a history to the vacant room. Once she’s off the bed she analyzes the decor she was too drunk with heartache to notice the night before.

There are motivational quotes scattered on the walls accompanied by paintings of flowers and other cliché decorations. It’s on-brand for Betty Brant to have 0 color scheme and base her interior design on feelings of optimism and enthusiasm. But right now, these decorations are laughing in Michelle’s face.

It’s not until she circles the entire room before seeing the poster framed and hung right above the headboard, and she feels herself traveling back in time to the very moment she decided to make this piece of art.

* * *

“I got the photos you wanted me to develop from your camera, Peter. The ones from the Halloween party,” Ned dropped a stack of freshly printed photos in front of Peter and MJ. 

“Oh, sick, thanks Ned,” Peter said as they crowded together to recount the night they dressed up as the infamous Star Wars trio. One specific photograph, however, brought a feeling of warmth to MJ the moment she laid her eyes on it. It was the photo they asked Peter and Ned’s neighbor from across the hall to take, and the process of finding a perfect pose was painstakingly long because the two boys refused to agree on a popular one. Finally, fed up with indecision, MJ begs for their neighbor to just take it catching Peter and Ned off guard with Michelle rolling her eyes mid-snap.

“I love this one; this is the essence of our friendship,” MJ laughed. 

“You’re right. If we ever meet anyone else and let them into our little club, this is what they’ll be met with,” Peter added. 

“Very cocky thinking that people actually want to be friends with our dumbasses,” Ned said.

“It’s not a cocky assumption,” MJ stated as a matter of fact. “We’re a perfect trio. You and Peter are the two idiots who get us into shenanigans while I come in the last minute to fix the mess you created. I’m also both the beautiful and dark-humored one, clearly. Peter’s the one that gets bullied all the time by both of us. Ned, you’re the lovable one.”

“Not too shabby of a group. If I wasn’t us, I would join it,” Peter commented. 

“It starts with us, young Padawans,” MJ referenced shocking Peter and Ned to their very core. In that moment, she knew she’d needed these two idiots in their life forever. 

* * *

Tears ran down Michelle’s face remembering the idea behind creating a painting of that photograph. She takes a deep breath and shakes the heavy thoughts of loss from her mind when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Michelle calls. Ned opens the door and notices the tears running down his former best friend’s face. 

“Hey, we have breakfast ready if– wait, is everything okay?” steps forward slowly as if to ask for permission. 

“Yeah, I just–life has been a little hard on me,” she doesn’t lie. “Betty didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t say anything to me,” he heads over to the bed and sits next to Michelle while keeping a good distance between them. She doesn’t want to summarize the past 24 hours of her life, and somehow Ned senses the reluctance. “I know we don’t talk anymore, Michelle, and I’m sorry for–”

“It’s okay, Leeds,” she rubs the damp trace of tears off her cheeks. “I understand why everything happened the way it did You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

She knows why Ned slowly backed away from her, and she accepts it because she knows she would never come in between a friendship that’s lasted longer than her own. She knew that the moment she cut herself off from Peter, Ned would eventually follow. It hurt, but she understood.

“Okay. But I do want to change that. So we should find time to talk to each other. There’s about three years of your life that I’ve missed out on, and… I care about you. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” she remembers the time Ned had been there for her when she was desperately in love with Peter when she would be confused and hurt by his actions but too cautious of Peter’s grief to ever say a word. She remembers when Ned asked her at the library their freshman year if she liked Peter, and she responded with a frown because _ yes, but Gwen is so perfect for him. _

“Come on, let’s eat some breakfast,” he changes the subject and they walk out to the living room where Betty’s frantically setting up the table. 

“Good morning,” Michelle feels too guilty to commit to her initial plan of leaving immediately to get changed at her place before work and decides to eat a few pieces of bacon before heading off. Breakfast is quiet, with the white noise of the Channel 5 news going over the weekly weather. “No work today Betty?”

“I’m only on at 5pm for the evening news,” she explains. “Are you going to work?”

“Yeah, I should really take off soon,” Michelle finishes the last bite of her toast before getting up and placing the dishes in the sink. She starts washing them before Betty insists on letting her do the cleaning. 

“You’ll be late for work.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you again,” Michelle starts to feel as if she’s overstaying her welcome. “I, um, really appreciate both of you.”

They smile at her and Betty comes in for another embrace. Michelle needs to keep a mental reminder that Betty loves hugs. They exchange a few more words centered around vague plans for the week if Michelle had the time. By the time she’s out the door, she starts to remember the reason she stayed in the first place. 

Contemplating her future with her fiancé is not something she wanted to or even expected to think about, but she needs to stop playing herself by thinking life’s going to go accordingly. She loves him, she does, but she admits that there’s an excess of comfort in being with Harry. He’s the only person who’s ever loved her, and she’s too reluctant on letting go of everything they have ever built because of a struggling time. 

He comforts her, or at least he tries. He does his best to unlock her, decode her, and listen to what she wants. He’s always learned from her, learned how to love her, and kept a consistent attempt to fix his errors when she points it out. He apologizes when he’s wrong, and he puts in the effort to make up for it. 

Harry’s a great guy. He does his best, and she believes it. So when she arrives at her desk and sees a bouquet of sunflowers and roses placed neatly in a pink-stained vase, her heart sings. He knows her favorite set of flowers, and this is his act of sincerity, his request to be forgiven for his fumble the day before. 

There’s no note, but she calls him immediately.

“Hey, I was going to call you earlier bu–”

“It’s okay, I saw them,” she gushes.

“Oh?” he returns.

“They’re beautiful. Roses and sunflowers, my favorite. You remembered.”

“Of course I know your favorite flowers.”

“About last night, babe, it’s okay. I know you have a lot of stuff going on. I forgive you,” she says.

“Okay. Listen, I have to go because I have...a meeting...soon.”

“Is everything okay? You sound tired,” she asks.

“It’s okay, service is bad going up the stairs,” he breathes into the speaker.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Gonna be home late.”

“It’s okay. Love you,” she hangs up the call and stares at the flowers once again, smiling in relief that the conversation she was anticipating during the entire commute to work wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. 

She’s drafting questions for Spider-Man as she awaits an email or a phone call or _ any form of communication _from the masked hero. Michelle blames herself for not asking for his contact information and proceeds to shame herself for being unprofessionally drunk in front of someone she’d have to interview. 

It’s self-confirmed, she’s a wreck right now. 

“How do you fucking get into contact with someone who doesn’t want to be known?” she groans out loud. 

“That’s exactly why I wouldn’t accept such a challenging thing. Every news outlet wants the scoop on Spider-Man’s return,” Cindy peeps out from in front of Michelle’s cubicle. “I don’t even think he’s done much interviewing from when he was operating before.”

“Not too much. I only knew a lot of information because my old friends were in some fan club that had all the public facts on him.”

“Why don’t you reach out to them?” 

“Maybe… Yeah, maybe I will,” Michelle’s already scrolling on her phone to text Ned. She _ should _feel ashamed for asking for even more favors from someone she hasn’t even fully reconciled with, but she also didn’t want to be fired from her dream job. 

_ Michelle: Hey, Leeds. I know you’re busy at work, but I was wondering if you could help me out with something. _

**Ned: What’s up!!**

_Michelle: You still in that Spidey fan club?_

**Ned: It’s not really a fan club.**

_ Michelle: Well, you know what I mean. You’re like always up to date with his whereabouts, so. Do you know if hangs around anywhere? I really need to interview him for work or else I’m fired probably. _

**Ned: I can try to figure it out, but I make 0 promises. I’m a working dude now, Michelle. There’s no time for fan clubbing.**

_ Michelle: You and I both know you’d never stop being the wonderful fanboy you are. _

**Ned: True. I’ll let you know as soon as possible.**

_ Michelle: Thank you. _

_ Michelle: For everything. _

**Ned: :)**

Michelle decides to focus on other projects so she doesn’t stress too hard on her new assignment. She looks up different current events to cover and brainstorms editorials to pitch when she notices a note tucked underneath the vase of her flowers. 

_ Pub on 45th. 7:00pm. _

She’s almost forgotten the reason behind her frustrations with her fiancé already considering the success of her Thursday. To top it off, she receives a new email regarding Spider-Man.

_ To: _ _[ michellejones@nytimes.com](mailto:michellejones@nytimes.com)  
__From: _ _[ virginiapotts@starkindustries.net](mailto:virginiapotts@starkindustries.net)  
__CC: _ [ _ tonystark@starkindustries.net_](mailto:tonystark@starkindustries.net)  
_Subject: Spider-Man Interview_

_Dear Michelle Jones, _

_It has been brought to our attention that you have requested an in-person interview with Spider-Man for an article in the New York Times. He has requested all communications go through us to ensure his anonymity. However, he has insisted on accepting at least one interview from the many that he’s been offered. Since you are the only journalist who has confronted him directly, we have decided to connect with you. _

_Please send us your availability to interview Spider-Man, and we will confirm your meeting with an email invitation with a location._

_ Sincerely,   
_ _Pepper Potts, CEO.  
_ _Stark industries_

She responds with her flexible schedule and awaits a response. It’s nearly time to clock out before she receives a follow-up invitation, as promised by Pepper Potts, to meet at Stark Industries on Friday morning to interview Spider-Man.

Things are looking up already, she closes her eyes and thanks the universe for aligning the stars in a way that gives her good luck. As she heads out of her office, she answers a call from Ned. 

“Hey, Michelle. Sorry for not being able to connect you with Spider-Man. For someone with my last name, I got none,” he makes a terribly delivered joke, but Michelle laughs anyway.

“It’s okay. Got an interview with him on Friday organized by the famous Pepper Potts. I didn’t know he worked with the Avengers now,” she adds.

“Really? That’s dope, I’m excited for you. And yeah, he operates with them now… for some reason.” 

“Probably couldn’t do the hero thing alone. Can’t imagine anyone that could,” she starts walking her usual route to get back to the penthouse to get ready for the pub date with Harry.

“You are 100% correct,” Ned agrees.

“I gotta pay attention to my commute back, Ned, but I’ll talk to you later.”

“See ya!”

As always, Michelle arrives at the pub before 7:00pm, sitting in a booth with a draft beer tucked in her hands. She takes little sips as minutes pass by, already anticipating Harry’s late arrival. Each time she hears the bells above the entrance jingle, she turns her head back. He’s just late, she thinks. It’s not uncommon for him, especially during these days. 

She’s idly scrolling through her Instagram when she hears the familiar deep laugh of her fiancé. Michelle smiles and glances back to meet Harry’s eyes, but he’s not alone. His arms are gripped around the waist of another woman, whose hands are placed on his chest. Michelle’s initial reaction was not anger nor sorrow, but shame. She places her head down against the wooden table and avoids confronting the two immediately. Her head is spinning and her heart race increases as if she’s just finished running a marathon with no stops. Her breathing turns jagged before she begins to quietly sob, nose still meeting the musky scent of wood. 

Harry’s with another woman.

Happy and laughing.

She looks up, facing their backs as they sit three booths away. He didn’t even recognize it was Michelle when he walked by. She’s betrayed, ashamed, and fighting for her thoughts to process the past three years that are shattering right before her eyes. She remembers to breathe, remembers the process of escaping a panic attack that she’d engraved in her head from the years they were more frequent. Michelle wanted to scream, she wanted to let the entire pub know the piercing pain of being stabbed in the heart was, and she wanted everyone to know it was because of him. But out of all things, Michelle wants to confront this correctly, to remove the shame before she dives into embarrassment. She wants, needs, and will have the upper hand, so she counts to ten.

One. 

How could you do this to me? You were the one I trusted, the one I changed for, the one who convinced me that loving was supposed to be easy. The one who made it harder, yet I still complied. I compartmentalized the feelings of self-doubt and insecurities because I thought it was you.

Two. 

This relationship went on for too long. I made too many sacrifices to make this work. I gave too much of myself that I’ve lost everything else around me all because of a stupid ring–a stupid promise that pushed me away from accepting the truth that it wasn't working out.

Three.

Three anniversaries. Three years of a routine romance that I never in a million years would have thought to be in before it happened. Three years that expired at this very moment. Three years I can’t ever get back.

Four. 

Four years of knowing you. Four years of not realizing who you really were. Maybe they were years of knowing who you were, but I didn't pinpoint the moment you changed along the way because I was blinded by the idea that someone could love me, could appreciate me for who I was. Four years of feeling right only to be so, so very wrong. 

Five. 

Five times you’ve left for a business trip are now five times I’m sure you were cheating on me. 

Six. 

The different ways you asked me to marry you the moment you proposed. You told me you didn’t know what tone to pop the question, and I told you to repeat your options. You asked me six times in six different voices, I answered yes every single fucking time. 

Seven.

You said to meet me here at 7pm when you gave me the flowers. Was this a deliberate way to hurt me in the most gut-wrenching way possible? Do you have no idea how to communicate properly? Have you ever even grown up from when you were a spoiled only child of a businessman?

Eight.

Eight months ago, my mother asked me if I was sure about you. I said yes, and I felt a disgusting feeling in my gut telling me I was lying to myself. That feeling was right. 

Nine. 

In just nine months, Betty and Ned were going to marry each other. They got engaged last month, and they have already started planning their wedding. They picked their centerpieces, their color schemes, the food they wanted to eat, and where they would get married. We’ve been engaged for six months, and you never mentioned a thing. Not even a color scheme. Not even a venue. Not even fucking flowers.

Ten.

Ten texts I sent last night before calling you for our date. The date we had been planning since you told me goodbye before your business trip. The ten texts I kept rereading at the bar after convincing myself that I was the problem. But I’m not the problem.

Michelle lifts herself from the table, twisting the engagement ring around her finger. She marches over to look at the damn couple. She no longer wanted to look at Harry. She never wanted to see his face again. She wanted to run away from all of the memories that are now tainted with the face of a woman she didn’t even know. 

She pulls the ring and slams it on their table, shaking the drinks the waiter had just carefully placed on coasters. Margarita mix spills down the side of the table onto Harry’s lap. His eyes are wide, he’s caught. Before he can say anything, she cuts him off.

“It’s over," she seethes.

She stalks back to her booth and grabs her purse. She leaves a $20 on the table for the $6 pint of beer she purchased. She doesn’t care. She needs to get out before anyone witnesses her sobs. She refuses to return to the penthouse, to the place that’s now haunted by this moment. 

She can hear the distant voice of Harry calling out her name. She ignores him and continues to walk. And she’s speeding down the streets of a bustling New York City until her legs start to burn as much as intensely as her heart is breaking and the tears are streaming down her face. 

Michelle tucks herself into a quiet alley next to a dumpster. The putrid stench of moldy pizza and bird shit only makes her eyes water more, but she doesn’t care. She’s just been cheated on, and she’s thoroughly convinced nothing else that can make her day any worse. Not until she hears a voice she hadn’t heard in three years, a voice of someone that she never thought she'd see again, a voice that so right to her ears but so wrong for the situation at hand. 

“MJ?”


	3. the interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!! more petermj interactions !!!!!!!
> 
> enjoy!

****Michelle was convinced that every little decision, step, thought, movement, action she had ever done in her life led her up to this moment. And in that moment, she was full of dread and absolute guilt towards whatever the hell she did in life to give her bad enough luck to run into Peter Parker. 

“MJ?” she hears the familiar sound of his squeaky, beaten down converse step closer to sewer-like area she’d chosen to hide in. She refuses to look up, to meet the eyes of the person she’d spent so many years getting over.

“What do you want?” she sniffles. 

“Are you okay?” he stops walking. 

“Does it look like I’m okay?” she shoots her head up, eyes swimming with anger and sorrow, but not toward Peter. He squats down next to her and rests his arms on his knees, followed with his chin. 

“Do you need to go home?” After his second question, Michelle knew she couldn’t escape the inevitable explanation as to why she wouldn’t be able to go home that night. “Or we can just sit here, by this god awful trash can in this awfully cold weather, and I’ve noticed, you aren’t wearing a jacket.” 

He’s already slipping off his denim jacket before Michelle could refuse any help. 

“Why are you here, Parker?” she leans forward, accepting the warmth of his clothing but not committing to his kindness by letting the arms drape by her body rather than wearing it completely.

“I heard someone run here, thought something was sketchy, but it ended up being you.”

“As if you could fight off some sketchy people.” He takes a deep sigh, defeated by each word Michelle pierces into his heart. 

“You’re probably right,” he picks himself up and offers a hand to her, but with complete and bitter intention, she stands up on her own. She doesn’t need Peter Parker. “Okay then. You headed home now?”

“Ye–No... yes.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m not headed home. I’m going somewhere else.” Anywhere else away from him, or anyone who’s ever hurt her.

“Okay. See you later, then. It was nice seeing you.” He accepted her refusal to chat more, to catch up as if they met up over a cup of warm coffee. But as he started to walk away, a slight growth of disappointment churned in her. She’d never thought she’d have this moment again, to see Peter walking away from her again, to have the option to keep the conversation going. 

“Parker?” He stops and turns.

“What’s up?” 

“You almost forgot your jacket,” she slips off the coat like she’s slipping away her initial thoughts of reaching out. His eyes fall to the piece of clothing, ever-so-slightly disappointed as if he’d planned for her to keep it all along. Typical. 

“Right. Thanks, MJ. Um good night,” and he’s walking away again. Her stomach starts to get sicker, and it wasn’t from the fact that she’d been by the garbage bin for about twenty minutes now. She watches Peter walk further and further until he turns the corner and disappears. 

It’s probably for the best to not open that door. Not now. Not in the emotional state Harry had left MJ in. Except, now surrounded only by her pride and the autumn breeze of a New York City evening, she could only think of one (or two) people she could confide in, and although life is dragging her by her weak ankles through the mud of Central Park after a terrible storm, she’s thankful that she’d taken a walk just yesterday and ran into the sweet and nurturing, Betty Brant. 

As she waited outside of the Brant/Leeds resident building, Michelle braced herself for a night of vulnerability because, well, vulnerability isn’t Michelle’s thing. She won’t–_ can’t _–function in life with her heart on her sleeve because it had never been something she’d learned. Michelle was a go-getter, she always has been since her parents, right before leaving her alone in the house again at 10 years old with a recycled babysitter, would kiss her forehead and say, “you gotta do what you gotta do in this world to live it the way you want.”

She’d taken it to heart, as any kid would, and it stuck. For all her life, Michelle captained her ship and provided for herself and the only person who had almost shared the helm was Peter. _ Almost_. Yet, now – two years later – no one’s controlling the direction of the sails, there are several holes, and she’s close to drowning.

The scratchy sound of the intercom snapped Michelle out of her thoughts. “Betty and Ned’s, how may I help you?”

“Hey, Leeds. It’s Michelle. Can I come up?”

“Oh… Right, um, listen–”

“Don’t be silly, Ned, just let her in,” Betty’s soft and soothing voice echoed in the background. 

“Are you...–” his face distinctly parts from the speaker and his sentence turns into unintelligible mumbles on Michelle’s end.

“Ned.”

“Yes, babe.” There’s another buzz along with a click of the front door. Their discussion left Michelle uneasy and slightly pathetic because of course she shouldn’t have shown up in their home with no forewarning. Though feeling idiotic for bursting into their lives out of the blue, she still continues her path to their door, opting for the stairs of the run-down apartment building. 

She’d open the door of the third floor, but as she nears the corner, she heard a carelessly loud conversation that halted her from turning.

“Dude, are you sure? It's Thursday. Game night,” the distinct sounds of Ned’s disappointed tone traveled to the end of the hallway.

“I don’t know… she seemed really sad when I saw her.” It was Peter. Of _ course_. “Maybe she needs you two more than me right now. Maybe she doesn’t have anyone else. You know how MJ is.”

Michelle’s lips begin to tremble. 

“You’re right,” Ned sighs. “Sorry to cut it so short.”

“It’s okay, we’ll always have game night. I’ll just swing over to May’s. She misses me anyway.” 

“Bye, Peter. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Ned. Take care of her.” The elevator opens and closes. Michelle lingers behind the walls for a moment to collect herself. To breathe in the words Peter didn’t know she had heard.

_ Maybe she doesn’t have anyone else. _

She let those words echo in her head as she stood in front of Betty and Ned’s door. She knocks. 

“Hey, Michelle,” Betty’s tucked away for the night in a pink, velvet robe and hair pulled back by a kitten-shaped band. “Come in.”

She’s back in the same place she’d woken up in not 24 hours ago as if she’d rented a room. Michelle took no time to water down her situation.

“Harry’s been cheating on me.” 

There’s a loud thud on the floor and several pieces of Battleship fall to the ground. Both Ned and Betty look at her, eyes wide open and mouths agape. She walks around the living room in the most casual manner as she can, fighting her tears from falling although it isn’t working very well. 

“I don’t know for how long. But, yeah. So.” Ned and Betty don’t move or speak as they watch Michelle place herself on the couch and touch the ghost feeling of the ring she’d slam into the wooden table of the bar. “I just really need...company.”

“Of course, Michelle,” Betty sits down next to her and places a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She cracks and spills. Everything. From what she witnessed at the bar hours ago to the beginning of the downfall of their relationship, from zero mentions of the wedding to the way she’d only accepted Harry because she was so tired of being unloved and unrecognized. Yet here she is, still treated like an abandoned warehouse, cold and empty.

“I tried so hard to make everything work that I convinced myself this is how relationships are _ supposed _ to be. You’re _ supposed _to exert this much effort. But it was so one-sided and I excused him for so fucking long.” Her guilty tears turned into disdain towards her fiancé - ex-fiance. For the most part, Ned and Betty just listen, which she appreciates. Their healthy relationship isn’t the best experience to pull advice from, and Michelle needed support and friendship, not Dr. Phil. 

“You can stay here for as long as you want, Michelle,” Ned suggests, Betty nodding in agreement. “We have an empty room that’s calling your name.”

“It’ll only be for a little,” she promises, “Until I find a place to move out. And a way to get all of my shit from Harry’s stupid penthouse.” Everything now about Harry Osborn was stupid, and no one could argue. Everyone who argued would be placed in Michelle’s list of people to never speak to again. His stupid company, stupid jet black hair, stupid cheating ass. She didn’t care to hide the pettiness seething from her head because _ fuck that guy. _

When she sees Ned’s drooping eyes and Betty’s second yawn, she calls it a night because it’s past one in the morning and she was so, so tired of sobbing. The three of them shuffle to their respective rooms, and Betty graciously lends Michelle extra clothes for sleeping as well as the following day.

“They’re the most ‘Michelle’ style clothes I can find in my closet,” she offers. 

“Thank you, Betty, it’s perfectly fine.”

When she’s laying in the bed for the second time, she wastes no time in falling asleep. Michelle takes deep breaths to clear her mind of all the bullshit she’s experienced in the past 48 hours. Each breath Michelle took, she promised herself redemption; she refuses to let this kick her down because she knows all of this a mere message reminding her that she always needs to put herself first, back into that driver’s seat, back in control.   
  


She forgets to set an alarm and wakes up at precisely 7:56 AM - one hour before her interview with Spider-Man at Stark Industries. She springs out of bed and speeds through her morning routine, slips into her (Betty’s) clothes, and speeds out of the room.

“Shitshitshit, I’m late,” she’s ducked down to the ground to lace up her combat boots. “How far is Stark Tower from here?”

“It’s about a 30-minute walk,” Ned answers immediately while peering down at his watch. “It’s right across from my work, I can walk with you right now.” 

He stands up and kisses Betty’s forehead, whose focused intently on a self-help book. “Bye, babe.” 

“Bye, babe. Michelle, take a bagel to go,” Betty doesn’t remove her eyes from her reading. Ned grabs the bagel for Michelle and they’re both out the door. 

8:26am. She’ll barely make it on time.

“I’m never late,” she cries. “I’m actually always 15 minutes early to everything, for the most part.”

“I know you are, Michelle. Don’t worry about it, though.”

“It’s such a terrible impression. I’m late. I don’t even have my set of questions or a laptop because I’ve left it all at Harry’s.”

“Don’t worry, dude, they’re chill. I mean, I bet they’ll be okay with it,” he tenses. “I mean, does Spider-Man look like he’ll be upset about tardiness?”

“It’s just the principle of the thing, Ned,” she frowns. “How do you even assume such a thing? Just cause he saves the world doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about punctuality.”

“Okay, then, I bet he’ll be incredibly angry at you and refuse an interview to the one journalist he offered to.” She’d stop in surprise if she wasn’t running late. 

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m the only one that he accepted an interview with.”

“You told me,” he opens the lobby door for Michelle, voice pitched a couple of octaves higher. She swore she never mentioned it, but with everything that’s happened, she puts it past her.  
  


8:50am. She waves Ned goodbye before entertaining the glassdoors of Stark Tower, a place she’d never seen. Tony Stark was an interesting man, a man that had changed from years ago before he decided to step forward as a hero. New York City, and the world, really hasn’t been the same since. 

She walks over to the receptionist and mentions her interview with Spider-Man. The receptionist asks for her name and scribbles it onto a guest name tag before asking Michelle to sign into the check in sheet. 

When Michelle’s waiting in a small lobby on the highest floor of the tower, she attempts to recall the questions she’d scribbled down in her notepad, but has close to no luck. She gives up and leans her head back against the wall, only realizing she’d been carrying a headache since she’s woken up with only one bagel and no cup of coffee getting her through the morning. 

“Miss Jones?” Miss Potts opens the door of the office two doors away from where Michelle had waited. “How are you today?”

“Could be better, if I’m being honest,” she exchanges hands with Pepper. “How are you?”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m doing just fine. Do you need anything? Water or coffee?” she lets her into the room. 

“Actually, coffee would be great,” she smiles. Pepper nods as she waves to the seat for Michelle to sit in. 

“He’ll be here soon. Spider-Man’s always late,” she rolls her eyes and walks out the door. 

Huh. Guess Ned was right. But before fixating on his extensive knowledge on Spider-Man’s mannerisms, the hero himself walked through the door with a compostable cup of coffee in his hands. 

“Hello,” he delivers Michelle the cup in replacement of a handshake. “Good to meet you on this lovely Friday.” 

“Hi, Spider-Man,” she straightens her posture with the cup in both hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“If I’m not mistaken, ma’am, we’ve met,” his muffled chuckle takes Michelle by surprise as if the symphony of laughter has already been played in her head. “How are you doing now?”

“Can we just disregard that? I’m here for one reason only, and that’s to have a formal conversation with you.” 

“Right, right. My apologies. So what do you want to know?” Michelle grabs her phone and opens the recording app, showing it to the hero’s face as if for approval. He nods, and she presses the button. 

“This is all on the record now, so whatever you say is free-range for me to write in an article. I will send you the first draft, of course, and we can discuss the details of it when the time comes. My first question is - what motivated you to return after those two years?”

Spider-Man takes behind the desk, his only expressions provided by the narrow range of eye movements in his mask. 

“Easy. My passion is in people.”

“Could you expand on that?”

“Two years ago, when I - you know - ‘retired’, I felt a little lost in more aspects of life than one, hero side gig aside. Then, I guess after reevaluating my decisions, I realized that I loved what I did because I love the people of New York, and I did it for them. Which is something that started to slip away from me.”

“What did you start to believe… when you felt lost?”

“I didn’t believe in anything, which really was the problem. I started doubting myself, my capabilities,” he leans back on the desk chair and props his feet up. “But I reignited my inspiration, discovered that the pros of the superhero gig outweigh the cons.”

“What are the pros?”

“Being there for people. Helping. That feeling you get when you know that you’re doing the right thing.”

“What are the cons?”

“Sweat. Getting beat up once or twice or maybe three times. Sometimes, it doesn’t work out - you know - your plans. The way you go about a situation. Sometimes, you’re too late. But those are only some times. The rest of the times, I do my best and it works out. Which I’m very lucky for.”

“Was one of those times Gwen Stacy?” she slips from her mouth. It had been accidental, but her curiosity got the best of her. His lenses opened wide, then went back to its normal state. He takes his legs off the chair and sits properly. “I’m sorry. Um. You don’t have to answer that. She was the first thing I thought of and, well, she was my friend. Kind of.”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I need to answer that for you to know.”

“Right."

There’s a growing tension in the naturally lit office room. It was then when Michelle decided to study the walls, the gadgets, the tasteful memorabilia decorating the walls. Most of it had been other Avengers posters and articles.

“You got a lot of other Avengers stuff in here. How come not your own?”

“Not a big fan of exposure. That’s not what I do it for. That’s Tony Stark,” he laughs again but stops abruptly with a cough.

“Speaking of Stark, what got you to work with him and the rest of the Avengers?”

“I used to operate alone. I think that’s a lot of the reason why I lost myself. What’s funny is he reached out to me first many years ago. I didn’t realize it was an offer to help until I approached him a few months ago. Funny how that works.”

“Yeah, funny.” She’s running out of questions, and frankly, he’s not giving the best material. But it could be due to the fact that he needed to keep his identity a secret. “Sorry for the silence. I just don’t really know what questions to ask without prying.”

“May I ask, Miss Jones, what exactly are you trying to write?” he leans in. She tilts her head, expressing a questionable look. 

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself.” He leans back, and in the two seconds of fumbling silence, he speaks again.

“You gave me your business card.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You need to stop saying sorry so often. I thought I said it a lot,” his light-hearted tone returns. “And don’t say sorry after this.” He wags a finger, and she giggles. 

“Well, to answer your question with a question, Mr. Man. Mr. Spider? Spider-Man,” she rambles. “If there’s anything you’d want the world to know about you, then what is it? Because that’s what I can write about.” 

“Hm. You pose an interesting question,” he stands up and moves around, bringing to Michelle’s notice that he has a short attention span. “I guess I just want the world to know that, I’m here. For them. For a while. And I don’t think anything can stop me this time.”

“That’s great. Can we dive in more about your work with the Avengers, and how different it had been compared to operating alone?” Spider-Man happily answered the rest of her questions, barely touching the surface. She could tell he’d circumnavigated around the ones that were too invasive or revealing. He spoke on his Avengers-related experiences within the past six months, the dynamics changing in the building because there’d been new heroes spotted, and how the superhero career shifted in its goals and attitude since leaving. There was a lot of information she could work off of, one that could probably easily satisfy her department boss. 

“Thanks, Spider-Man.” She turns off her phone recorder.

“No problem, Miss Jones.”

“You can call me Michelle."

“Right. No problem, Michelle,” he puts his hands on his hips. “Is there anything else?” 

“Nope, I think I’m good.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How are you doing? I know you told me to forget about it, but the other night, when you’d pulled me across the city at the fountain...I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe it’s my inner morals and all, but… are you okay?”

She takes a deep breath. Is she really going to answer this question to a complete stranger? A stranger that, funnily enough, she feels she can trust.

“I’m not okay. But I will be. Of course, I will be.”

“Can I share a bit of advice?” 

“Yeah.”

“Put yourself first. I know you probably already know this, you seem like an intelligent and forward thinking person, but… getting lost and forgetting what you do things for… well, that’s something that I can personally say is not the best to experience.”

“Thank you…” Before she could ask any more questions, expand their conversation, or get to the root of why Spider-Man had been so..._ kind _to her, he ends it. 

“Well, if you ever need anything else, Michelle. I’ll be around the neighborhood,” he salutes her and she’s walking out of the door. 

The material she’d gotten was amazing, enough to get her to start something, to appease to her boss that she’d already begun her process of writing the most important article of that month. She’s convinced she could use a little more material from the hero herself, and no, it’s not an excuse to speak to him one more time. 

Not at all.


	4. the dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! back at it again. thank you for all being patient with me for this story. i want to make sure it's enjoyable for all of you, and that's why i want to take more time fleshing it out. 
> 
> in this chapter, we get a little insight on mj's perspective of peter's prologue, and a little more interaction between the two! enjoy! 
> 
> <3

“Michelle, babe, please I can explain. I’m sorry. I love you. Please call me back.”

“I understand you’re upset, but I just need to know if you’re safe, can you let me know? I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Alright, Michelle, I get it. You’re angry. But your things are here. So I expect you to call me back sometime. I love you.”

“Listen, it’s been two days, and you’ve ignored me this entire fucking weekend. It’s Saturday now. I know you have work and you need to come by. Just let me explain myself, Michelle. You always fucking do this. Come on.”

“MJ, please. Call me. I love you.” 

* * *

For all of Friday night and Saturday morning, Michelle replays the voicemails over and over until the words sound like random combinations of the alphabet that serve no meaning. Because, if they’re coming from Harry Osborn – cheating, lying, deceitful Harry Osborn – they should mean nothing to Michelle at all. 

The more she thought about her relationship with Harry, the more regret she painted on herself for not realizing sooner that what they have, what they _ had _ was the result of Michelle’s insecurities, her fear of not being enough to be loved, not being enough for affection, not being _ enough. _But that was how she lived her life, how she was taught to survive in a world that rooted against her. She’s heard it from her parents several times, both through words and their actions. 

Her mom and dad always disappeared, always left for business trips and meetings, always left her with whatever nanny they had hired that month. None of them would last longer than those weeks her parents were gone. Michelle thought it was because she was too much to take care of, that they’d get sick of seeing her or taking care of her even if she was the most polite she could be to them. It made sense, though, because if her own parents didn’t think she was good enough to raise on their own, then why would a stranger want to commit to her? 

Michelle grew up disliking herself. She could never find the balance between not enough or too much when it came to other people. She stuck to books, to _ learning. _It was the only thing that never let her down. Her wit and intelligence carried her all the way to college, to NYU, to that first day of orientation when she watched two nervous boys pace around before the welcoming speeches. She had seen them earlier that day when she arrived on campus and overheard them arguing about the existence of a Multiverse. 

She introduced herself, the most Michelle way she possibly could, by interrupting their conversation and delivering a one-liner so brutally awkward that she had no idea why one of them, the one with floppy hair and a scrunchy smile, introduced himself. 

“Uh, hi, I’m Peter. That’s my friend, Ned.”

“I didn’t ask for your names,” she replied, eyebrows furrowed and angry. The floppy-haired boy kept staring. _ Too much, Michelle. _“I’m just kidding. I’m Michelle.” 

They hadn’t walked away yet. They were listening to her. They didn’t feel uncomfortable with her intense honesty. Michelle liked that, liked that enough to take it as an opportunity to rebrand herself and maybe, just maybe befriend these people. “But my friends call me MJ.” 

It had worked for a while. Her effort to become someone new, to become comfortable with herself. To no longer fluctuate from _ too much _ and _ not enough _ \- to be herself, and to have people like that. Peter helped with it a lot. He was accepting, patient, understanding - the type of boy you’d want to take home to your parents. He invited MJ to study in his and Ned’s dorm, to eat with them at the dining commons. They were _ friends,_ like actual living, breathing friends that wanted to be around MJ. He even invited her to Christmas. 

How could she not like him? How could she avoid the way her heart skipped a beat when he’d text her a new song to listen to, when he’d ask her random questions about her favorite books, ice cream flavors, colors just because he wanted to know more about her - and he’d remember all of it. She didn’t do anything with her feelings because she _ couldn't. _Peter had a girlfriend, a beautiful, smart Columbia student with a perfectly symmetrical face, blond hair, and beautiful eyes. She was sweet, like Peter - she gave MJ a Christmas gift, she would Snapchat silly faces of Peter to MJ (and Ned, in their little groupchat), she greeted her hello and goodbye. Gwen Stacy was perfect, and with Peter, they were perfect together.

Eventually, MJ settled as Peter’s friend, his best friend. So when he showed up in her dorm, eyes bloodshot red, tears running down his face, hands trembling as he held a silver bag in his grasp, she let him in. She let him cry for hours, and she cried, too. But her tears weren’t for Peter, they were for Gwen. She deserved better. 

MJ didn’t jump the gun, she didn’t go for it with him, she let him heal. She’d give Peter leftovers, she’d stay with him longer if he asked, and she reminded him that everything would be okay. But when he started letting her put her head on his lap or look at her in a way he hadn’t before, she was _ confused. _

She waited, though. She listened to Ned and Betty and waited for Peter to say something first because he wasn’t always there. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He would disappear a lot and come back with no explanation. It was strange, but she accepted him because he had accepted her. Even when she made the mistake of kissing him on Valentine’s Day, he didn’t push her away. When it took him two weeks to talk to Michelle again, it made her angry, but it just proved that she needed to be patient with Peter, to wait.

So she kept waiting. 

And waiting.

Until she couldn’t anymore. 

Until she realized everything she felt about the moments they shared was one-sided. She shouldn’t have been disappointed, she blamed herself for not grasping the idea that even for Peter Parker, she wasn’t enough.

Then there was Harry Osborn – who complimented her intelligence, who asked for her number after they met for the first time at the diner, who would text her until 2am talking about nothing but somehow, for MJ, it was everything. He liked her. And she wanted to like him back, so when he asked her out, she said yes, and the rest went on. 

But now, three years later, heartbroken and emotions run dry, she wondered if she should have said yes in the first place, if she should have tried to like him because he liked her. Because now, she loved him more than he ever could. Now, she was exhausted because as she replays the voicemails over and over again, she realized that the only times he loved her was when she wasn’t his. 

The phone rings again, but she can’t stand it. She can’t stand trying to ignore him, so she picks up the phone, face still buried in the pillow, and says:

“Please stop fucking call me. I’ll call you when I want to–”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Jones, I think you must be thinking of someone else.” Michelle lifts her phone to read a number that isn’t Harry’s, her eyes widen, and she sits up. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Miss Potts, I didn’t– I don’t even… I’m so sorry,” she repeats. _ Not good enough. _

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I just wanted to follow up with you on the interview with Spider-Man,” she soothes. “How did it go? Do you need another one?” 

A beat. 

“Actually, I was thinking about it. I don’t want to sound too personal, but something happened to me the day before, and I just didn’t have my head straight, and I could have honestly rescheduled, but I know he’s hard to meet with, and… well I guess what I’m trying to say is, yes. I think I need another one,” she sighs. _ Too much. _

“That’s wonderful because he’s been a bit nervous about it. He thinks he didn’t say the best things and kept rambling about a second one. Could you do one tomorrow? Same place. I understand it’s Sunday, but–”

“Sunday is perfect! It’s great, actually. Is it okay if I come by in the evening? There’s a few things I need to take care of earlier.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Ms. Jones. We’ll see you tomorrow at 6pm,” Pepper hangs up the phone. 

The sun had already finished its shift in New York City the first time MJ steps out of the guest bedroom. There’s a stillness to the apartment, with the static sound of Betty’s voice doing a report on the Channel 5 News and Ned’s clacking away at his computer screen full of codes that Michelle couldn’t understand even if she wanted to try.

She walks to the kitchen and makes herself a cup of coffee, her first meal of the entire day. It isn’t her proudest moment, but she tells her own conscience to fuck off because she deserves to be sad right now. As soon as the Keurig finishes its last drip, she curls up on the couch and watches Betty in action. 

“And just like that, Spider-Man saves the day again. We’re lucky to have our local web-slinger back in action to fortunately save not just this family from the drunk driver on the freeway, but the driver as well. Thank you Spider-Man. Onto other news…” 

“It’s like he never left,” she sets down the mug on the coffee table. 

“Hm?” Ned turns his computer chair to face her. 

“Spider-Man. Like, when he came back, he’s just going at it full force. The break must have been a really good choice.” 

“How’d your interview go? I never got to ask,” he stands up from his work desk to accompany her on the couch.

“It was like...” she turns her body to face Ned, thinking back to the previous morning and how she felt when he signed her off and they parted ways. She didn’t get a real chance to think about _ him _ because she had rushed to get a Very Shitty First Draft finished for her boss, who had replied with edits almost immediately.

Formally meeting Spider-Man felt strange because it didn’t feel strange. Maybe he has that effect on people, and maybe that’s why he’s the neighborhood’s favorite hero. His softness towards Michelle was most likely due to him witnessing her at her absolute worst at Washington State Park. She was a mess, and he knew, but he was kind and patient enough to not mention it, to view her as a professional journalist rather than what he had seen. 

“Like I’d known him for a long time. He’s really nice,” she reruns her encounters with him in her head. “I’m interviewing him again tomorrow, so that’ll be fun.”

“Oh, okay… how’s everything with You-Know-Who?” Ned whispers. 

“He’s been calling me so much. I just want him to give me some time, even though all my shit’s at his stupid apartment right now. I have to get it tomorrow,” she frowns. “And I suppose I have to talk to him eventually… But that’s future Michelle’s problem.” 

“What’s current Michelle’s problem?” 

“I need to eat… something other than coffee,” she gestures to the instant coffee that’s already cold. “And to look for apartments.”

“Well, Betty and I are going to go out to eat tonight, and, um, well… Peter’s going. I don’t know if you’re comfortable and all… but you should come if you’re hungry. You now, for the food,” he over explains himself. 

“For the food,” her stomach grumbles in response, feeling as if it’s caving into itself. “Yeah, okay.” 

They’re silent for a while, letting the weatherman participate in their conversation, informing them that there’s a storm on its way to New York in a couple of days. 

“Ned, did you um…tell him anything?” she asks with the thought of the conversation she had (accidentally) eavesdropped on the night she came to their apartment after catching Harry. 

“Actually, he told me that he ran into you in an alley and that you were really sad. But that was before you told us what happened, so no. I didn’t tell him anything,” he answers. 

“Okay. I’m sorry you always have to listen to all my bullshit about Peter. I know he’s your best friend, but I ran into him that night and… I wanted to talk to him more, but I just… I couldn’t do it, Ned. I don’t know why,” she rests her head on his shoulder, and he pats her hair. 

“It’s okay Michelle. You’re like, delicate. And it’s okay to be delicate. It doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. You know? Plus, you shouldn’t worry about anyone but yourself. And Peter knows that now,” his tone remains consistent with his upbeat attitude. The world was truly blessed when Ned Leeds came into this Earth. But Michelle thinks about the end of his sentence, the way he said _ now _, meaning there’s a time that existed where Peter didn’t know this before about Michelle, and a time that existed soon after where he made that realization and expressed it to Ned. In that one word pinned at the end of Ned’s sentence, Michelle understands that maybe Peter has grown from their previous, rocky relationship. But that didn’t mean Michelle should be crawling back to him, broken and wanting to be fixed. 

She promises herself that before she goes to anyone, she’ll make sure she’s able to run first.

Peter’s late to dinner, and when he shows up, he’s breathless and exhausted, eyes drooping with drowsiness. Betty and Ned don’t seem to comment on it, so Michelle doesn’t ask. 

“Hey MJ,” he smiles as he finishes tucking his backpack below the dinner table. They’d opted for a hole in the wall Thai food restaurant that night. 

“Hi, Peter,” she greets. 

“Hey Ned, hey Betty,” Betty fake coughs and rolls her eyes. 

“I was going to get to that,” he sits down adjacent to Michelle. “Hey Ned, hey Betty.”

Michelle drums her fingers against the white-clothed table, chin in hand. The silence is painful and awkward mixed with the clash of utensils from other restaurant-goers and the bustle of cooks in the back. There isn’t much for Michelle to say at all and praises the waitress for breaking their non-conversation. 

“Hi, everyone, I’m Lisa, I’ll be your server today,” her voice is monotonous and tired. “Can I get started with drinks? Or is everyone ready to order as well?” 

After they place their orders, the stillness of the conversation is less gruesome because Peter starts talking to Michelle, starts asking her questions about New York Times, about any new books she’s read, about anything other than Harry Osborn. 

“Work is… it’s good. I do opinion pieces when they let me. I haven’t gotten a front-page article or anything, but I mean, I just started a couple of years ago.”

“I bet you’ll get there soon,” he pokes at his larb.

“Actually, I’m working on an article about Spider-Man. Hopefully, it’ll be good enough to make the front page. Although, it’s probably because of him, not me.”

“It’ll be because you’re good at writing, MJ,” he says. She smiles at him, and turns to face Betty and Ned who she just realized have been rather silent the whole time, and Michelle feels slightly guilty for not including them in their conversation, but she notices they’re busy working on their plates. 

“How about you? Where do you work?” she asks.

“Oh, um. I’m in between jobs right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m doing fine, actually. Can’t complain,” he stutters. 

“He got all that dough from Stark Internship back in college,” Ned laughs, and Michelle hears a shift of legs and a kick to the shin. “Ow!” 

“I just don’t like it when people talk about finances,” he grumbles, staring daggers at Ned.

“Sorry, Peter.” 

The rest of the night continues, and Michelle didn’t really know how to feel at the end of their dinner. She had this fear that the feelings would come rushing back to her, that she’d remember all of the hurt she went through with trying to move past him, but she didn’t feel any of that. She felt a change. Peter was different than he used to be, and she supposes she was too. But it didn’t feel wrong - not at all. Just different. She pinned the thought away for later. 

Ned and Betty insisted on getting ice cream afterward, and as the group made their way to a local shop, a sound of sirens blared through the sky. Ned stopped walking, causing Betty to bump into him and fall backward and into Peter’s ready-to-catch-her arms. 

“Sorry, babe.” 

“It’s okay, babe. Thanks for catching me, Peter,” she dusts off her skirt. The sirens continue to scream through the streets.

“No problem. But I think I should get going… I’m pretty tired. Had a long day of helping Aunt May with some stuff,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Thanks for tonight guys.” 

He turns to Michelle, who’s peering up and down the block to see if she can figure out where the sirens were coming from. 

“It was nice seeing you,” he says. Nothing more, nothing less. “Bye, MJ.” And he runs off, hands clutching tightly on his backpack.

Before going to bed, she listens to Harry’s voicemails again to desensitize his voice before going to talk to him the next day before her interview with Spider-Man. She sent him a message past midnight, formal and concise, saying they should talk so that she can grab the rest of her things and figure out where to go from there, and his reply was short and hopeless compared to the messages he had left before. 

Michelle scrolls through her phone a bit longer, lingering over the contact information of Peter Parker. She calculates different ways she could approach talking to him after that night, making sure she’d come up with a way to let him know that she didn’t want anything more than to just be friends again - a message that wasn’t too much or too little. But in the end, she decides to be honest.   
  
  


_ Michelle: You ran off before I could say anything, but it was nice seeing you today too. I appreciate that neither of us made it weird. And I also wanted to say that I’m sorry. _

Peter: It was nice. Not weird at all. 

Peter: And, don’t apologize MJ. It should be me doing that. 

_Michelle: Maybe we can talk about it sometime soon? _

Peter: Only if you’re okay with that. I understand if you don’t want to, though. 

_ Michelle: I want to. I miss being your friend. _

Peter: Me too. 

_ Michelle: I’m sorry. _

Peter: Stop apologizing!!!

Peter: And you better not respond that you’re sorry.

  
There’s a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach as she reads his final message - a feeling she can’t decipher, but it lingers in the back of her head like it’s trying to say something to her. Instead, she chooses to ignore his text, deciding that it was enough talking to Peter Parker for the day. But she still thinks about him, and the way he carried himself at dinner. During their meal, she had already decided he was different; more mature and calmer, like he had finally given himself the time he needed to heal from his traumas. 

She praises him in that way because of all people, Peter deserves to be happy. She had known that from the day she’d learned about his violent history and from the way she saw him lose people. From her few interactions, she’s observed that Peter has finally put himself first. 

And hopefully soon, she’ll be able to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will peter and mj be friends again!? how will her next interview with spidey go? is mj onto something....? ;)
> 
> let me know what you all think! comments are much appreciated :)


	5. the swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And she thinks of Peter Parker, and how she wants to do the same for him - how she wants to have his support and support him again because around him, she felt most like herself than ever before. She owes it to him, to Betty and Ned – hell, now even to Spider-Man – to be human again."

There it was, hovering over her, sleek and tinted dark, reflecting the streets of the city rather than exposing the lives of its affluent residents. Michelle peers over to the top of the building immediately spotting the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse she lived in for two years now, wondering if Harry’s staring straight down to her from the view. 

If he is, she can’t tell. And as Michelle’s learned in the past few days, there’s a lot of things about her ex-fiancé she didn’t know. Much like the tall tower she glares at, Harry Osborn has a dark, cold exterior. She still can’t believe herself for not realizing this sooner, but at the same time, maybe he wasn’t always like this. 

That’s what the conversation is for. 

One more conversation and then she’ll get rid of him. 

One more, and she’ll be on track to recover from this. To learn how to run.

She texts Ned again to make sure he’s there to pick her up in two hours. It can’t take longer than that to let Harry know that there’s absolutely no way he can convince Michelle for another chance. And as for packing her things, she didn’t have much. The things that were theirs were technically Harry’s, anyway.

She looks at the building again, with the light of the sun beating down on it.

She can do this.   
  


Without hesitation, Michelle uses her own set of keys to let herself in the penthouse. Her heart races as she hears the tick of the lock and slowly pushes the door open, but when she steps in, Michelle realizes that Harry’s nowhere to be found in the living room. 

She takes it all in. The barely broken-in grey sectional against multi-colored brick walls. The grey marble countertop sitting on black wooden drawers. The wooden floors that always froze Michelle’s feet in the mornings if she forgot to wear her fuzzy socks when making breakfast.

There’s a stillness to the place. To Michelle, it was almost surreal roaming around a space she’d grown familiar to, yet feeling so alienated - so strange. Different. She shakes off the thoughts as she finally makes her way to the bedroom to collect her miscellaneous items.

Clothes, beauty products, her goddamn work backpack that she’s survived two days without, and her favorite fuzzy blanket. Everything else, she could really live without. It wasn’t like there was much life to their bedroom anyway, just an expensive artwork Harry had commissioned for her when she’d accompany him to another Oscorp event and a tall plant in the corner of the room that began to wilt away due to the lack of care Michelle had given it for the past week. 

She’s halfway through placing her belongings in a large suitcase when she hears the click of the door and the pitter-patter of paws and shoes walk in. Looks like Harry took their dog for a walk. She hears Harry speak to their puppy in his _normal_, human voice. God, was there anything not uncomfortable about him?

Suddenly, he’s standing at the door frame, arms crossed, leaning against one side, looking down at Michelle kneeling by her clothes scattered on the floor. It hit her that she hasn’t spoken to - like _really_ spoken to - Harry in nearly three weeks. 

Although she repeated in her head what to say to him when she saw him, she blanks out – too distracted by the way Harry appeared: casual and calm. The same way he’d always looked to her, how he’d always acted. The truth of the matter is, Harry didn’t look cold-blooded. He looked warm and inviting, chiseled and mature. And no matter how much Michelle tries to convince herself that he’s always been evil, that he _looks_ evil, she was wrong. He was a regular, handsome guy. And that’s the scariest part of it all – how deceiving people can be, how no matter what, there’s always a real person behind the mask that they put out to the world.

“Look, Harry, if you’re going to explain yourself… You should really save yourself from the trouble. I’m not here for that,” she starts. 

“Then what can I do to prove to you that I love you?” 

She scoffs. “This,” she gestures to the air between them. “It isn’t love. It’s… It’s possession. It’s you being able to leave whenever you want, but having me here just pathetically waiting for you to come home when you get bored of the next girl that takes your interest. I’m not going to be someone you go to when you’ve had enough fun. I’m not going to be your second choice, Harry.” 

Michelle rolls up her clothes as she talks, refusing to make eye contact. 

“And I wasn’t yours?” 

“Excuse me?” she drops her pants on the opened suitcase. 

“Cut the bullshit, Michelle. You only dated me because you couldn’t have Peter Parker. And I had to live with that!” he throws his arms out. “Peter this, Peter that. The first few months of our relationship, all you did was talk about Peter. He even kissed you, for fuck’s sake, Michelle! And I forgave you.” 

“That is _ nothing _compared to blatant cheating, Harry. Nothing,” she raises her voice, yet she doesn’t deny the previous claims. “And I stopped talking to Peter! What more did you want?” 

“I never asked you to stop talking to Peter, Michelle. You stopped talking to Peter because you knew you couldn’t handle being his friend knowing you were already in a relationship. You should have just dumped me from the start. Would’ve been a hell of a lot better than the past three years…” he moves into the room and sits on his bed. “You’re a lot different than the Michelle that I fell in love with. Did you know that?” 

“Well, you’re a lot fucking different than the Harry that I thought I loved.”

“It’s like ever since you stopped being his friend, you turned into this… cold stranger that hated to laugh. And the whole time – the whole time I fucking thought it was me. That it was my fault. I lived with that.” 

“If you were so unhappy, then why the hell did you propose to me?”

“Because of your fucking plan! Your goddamn Five Year Plan where you thought you could have everything figured out!” he yells, running his fingers through his hair. “And we were good together, we got shit done. We went to events. The public knows about you and me. Imagine what they would say...”

“You’re always just caring about your image,” she mutters. There’s no anger in her words, no tremble in her voice. Everything they said to each other, it was all true. No matter how hurt Michelle felt hearing Harry throw those words into her face… they were true. 

The two of them were never meant to be together for this long. She ran to Harry because she was sad - that much was true. Harry was there for her - he was the only person that was, and she took it to her advantage, always upset because no matter how much he tried to fix any obstacle that came their way, her desire for love was insatiable. Because it wasn’t the kind of love that she wanted. It resulted in two people giving each other what they thought was the most they could give, only to not realize that what they gave each other wasn’t what they wanted. 

He wanted someone to show off, someone to present to the world as his. She wanted someone to come home to, someone who showered her in private kisses and affection. But that didn’t excuse his cheating, and as much as she understood that their relationship never meant to work out, she still couldn’t forgive him for prolonging the inevitability of their break up because even though Michelle was convinced they were happy, she realized the entire time, Harry never was. 

And he never expressed it. Instead, he went off with other people - breaking Michelle’s trust in him and in humanity. In love. 

“This was never meant to be, Harry,” she finishes stuffing her suitcase with the rest of her clothes. 

“I guess it wasn’t.” 

“And I can accept that I have had some faults in this. We both did. But I will never forgive you for cheating on me,” she lifts the suitcase up and slings the canvas bag of beauty products on her other arm. 

He follows her to the front door, and she turns to him one more time. 

“I hope that one day you’ll learn how to love yourself, Harry. So you don’t ever have to hurt someone like the way you’ve hurt me,” she looks at him right in the eyes. He doesn’t turn away.

“I hope you can do the same.” 

Even though Michelle is certain that Harry has traumatized her more than she had ever hurt him, the conversation between the two made her realize that she and Harry were on two sides of the same coin never able to face one another. 

There are only a few hours left before Michelle needed to head toward the Stark Tower and interview Spider-Man once again. Except this time, her headspace is clearer even though the rest of her body feels dull. At least now she could draft up better questions.

She looks over the edits of her first draft of the paper. Simply put, Mr. Johnson thought it was boring. There was no spark. Nothing that convinced New York City that the hero was back and better. 

_ Let’s put a little heart into the next draft, Jones. The final’s due in 2 weeks. _

Her heart was something she needed to find, too. 

She’s writing down ideas of different angles for the story at their dinner table when Betty accompanies her, staring at her laptop screen. 

“Spider-Man stuff?” she sits down next to Michelle.

“Yeah… I don’t know what to write about,” Michelle groans, nursing the biggest writer’s block in the world. 

“You have your next interview today, so, I think that’ll help,” Betty rests a soft hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “But if you want my two cents – everyone talks about Spider-Man like a superhero. I mean, he is one. And, yeah, he’s with the Avengers now and yeah he’s back and better, but… he’s also very human. People forget that.” 

“True. This article shouldn’t just be about what he does. I mean, I wrote about why, but of course, he loves New York City. He wouldn’t be doing this gig if he didn’t.” 

“Exactly. Find out what makes him human,” Betty smiles, “And let the world know.” 

* * *

Michelle decides to stop for food before her meeting when she realizes that she hadn’t eaten since before talking to Harry, and seeing as that conversation already felt like days ago, her stomach wasn’t having it. On the way to Stark Tower, she gravitates to a hot dog cart and thanks the vendor after their quick exchange. Michelle finds an empty bench in between buildings to have a place to eat her meal. 

Mid-bite, however, she hears a thwip of a web and a body crashing into the building behind her. She flicks her head back to see Spider-Man dusting his hands off, placing his hands on his hips, and talking to the person he’d attached to the wall. 

“Don’t steal purses! It’s bad,” his voice is muffled from his mask. He writes a note on a paper and sticks it onto the web, returning the purse to the lady who was breathless–Michelle presuming that she’d been chasing after her assailant. The woman thanks Spider-Man and he salutes her before going opposite ways with the hero walking toward Michelle.

“Spider-Man,” she calls out and his bug eyes go wide. 

“Hey! We have a meeting soon,” his voice a little deeper than when he had warned the man about stealing. He joins Michelle on the bench as she finishes her hot dog and nodded in response to his statement. Though they exchanged no other words, the guy was quite fidgety and nervous – a lot different compared to the way he moved and spoke to the mugger not 10 minutes ago. 

“Listen,” he starts, “I know we were _ supposed _to meet at the tower at 6, but how about we do this interview around the city right now? Being outside makes me feel more… at ease. I don’t operate in the tower, you know?” 

“Yeah… that’d be cool,” she crumbles the napkin she was eating her hot dog with and aims for the trash. She makes it. 

“Very good precision, Michelle Jones,” he does a literal round of applause before standing up and offering her his hand. “You ready?” 

“Where are we going?” she grabs his hand and feels the strange material of his suit. 

“I was thinking… maybe a swing.” 

“What? Like fly?” 

“I don’t fly…” 

“I mean you swing between skyscrapers, so… that’s pretty much like flying. Do you have a seat belt or something built into your suit for passengers?” 

“No, um… No, you’ll have to wrap yourself around me,” he mumbles at his feet. “Is that okay?” 

“Sure,” she shrugs. She tightens the straps of her backpack to ensure the safety of her things and follows him closer to the wall he had webbed the guy who’s now being detained by the police. He salutes the NYPD before pulling Michelle down the alley. As soon as they’re far enough, he pats his thighs and squats slightly for Michelle to hoist herself around him. She follows his direction and wraps her legs around his waist, following her arms. Her heart’s pounding as she moves closer to him, and he may have realized because Spider-Man gives her a reassuring squeeze.

“I got you, it’s okay,” he says confidently before raising his arm to click on the device that shoots his iconic web fluid. Before she can say anything, her feet are slowly lifting from the ground and her heart thumps even faster from adrenaline. 

“Oh my God,” she manages to yelp. “Oh my God.” 

_ Click. Thwip. Click. Thwip. _

They’re 100% off of the ground and _in the damn sky_, soaring over the heads of every day New Yorkers enjoying a Sunday evening. Michelle forces her eyes open to catch the blurry view of buildings and the setting sun. 

Her grip around him was tight and her legs were tense, but somehow, Michelle felt safe – like time slowed down as they traveled around the city, like nothing else matters except for the view and the way Spider-Man’s free hand wrapped around her lower back. But as they moved through the air she noticed the sun disappear, and the fear in the pit of her stomach spike up.

“You can put me down now,” she repeats over and over until there’s a stillness below her as he plants his feet on the floor. She moves her head from the crook of his neck and faces his lenses. If his mask weren’t there, Michelle knows their eyes would meet. She wonders how they look for just a moment until she realizes her legs are still wrapped around him. 

She pushes herself off his body and pats her clothes down. 

“Wow,” she says. 

“I never get over it,” he comments. As soon as Michelle comes to her senses about her surroundings, she notices the New York City skyline – windows lit with people going home for the evening and the common sight of traffic lights lined closely toward each other. 

“_Wow_,” she repeats stepping around the roof of whatever building they’re on, distancing herself from the edge to avoid looking down. “So this is where Spider-Man watches over New York.” 

“This, and other places. Depends on the day.” 

“Well, Spidey, I guess it’s time for our second interview,” Michelle plops down on the floor, crisscrossed and ready to take notes on her laptop. She won’t be a mess this time. “I’ll be recording again, by the way.” 

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he perks, moving from his leaned position on the ledge of the building to the floor with Michelle so he isn't looking down on her.

“My first question is… how are you?” she asks. “After two years of rest, which I personally believe is well-deserved… how are you feeling?” 

“Oh, um… I’m good. Really good. What’s funny is, before… I didn’t take care of myself a lot. Like I’d forget to eat. Or just be awful to my body. I just kept going, even if the odds were against me. I had this incredible need to just fix everything except for myself.”

“Why did you feel like you had to fix everything?”

“Because I felt like a lot of the things that were going wrong in my life were my fault. But I realized that as hard as I try, I can’t help anyone properly if I don’t help myself. I think I was doing the people in my life – and New York – a favor by stepping away.”

The words ring true in Michelle’s current life, and how she misplaced her love for people and felt lost. 

“It makes sense to step away. Superhero-ing can be taxing,” she comments, “Outside of your duties, how do you spend your time?” 

“These are very interesting questions, Em–Michelle,” he stutters in a way that makes the cogs in Michelle’s brain turn. “I like movies, video games, seeing my family and friends… I like going for walks and looking at dogs. Anything, really. Sometimes, I’ll spend hours at the Stark Tower working with Mr. Stark on new prototypes and helping plan the internship program he has.” 

“Do these things help keep you grounded?” 

“I would say so. More so, I think my support system does. They were there to tell me to put me first when I was struggling.” 

“You really believe in people a lot, don’t you?” she comments.

“Of course. I think everyone has a chance to become a good person. Everyone can do what I do, even if they don’t have the powers. There’s a lot of people in my life that have saved me – reminded me to eat, sleep… reminded me to be human. Surrounding yourself with wonderful people is the best thing you can do to start becoming a better person. You reflect the persona of the people you are around, you know?” 

Michelle thinks about Harry’s words from earlier about how she’d changed, how she stopped being the person he fell in love with, and she realizes it’s because she only surrounded herself with him. 

“Right. These people – your support system – how has your dynamic with them changed now that you’re back to operating as Spider-Man?” 

“Well, they’re still proud of me. They always have been, for the most part. I think, though, there has been disappointment from other people because of me… Because I was too clouded by my insecurities to support someone. But… that’s beside the point. Yeah, they’re really good about me being back.” 

Michelle tilts her head at the masked figure, that same familiar feeling floating in the back of her head, the same one she felt when Ned asked her how her meeting was. His answers, his attitude - she feels as if she’s heard these before. But she figures it's the humanity and soul of the man behind the mask, and how he seems as vulnerable as any other regular person in New York. He has the capacity to break, too, and maybe that’s why Michelle feels a gravitational pull towards Spider-Man, why she feels like she’s known him all this time.

As they wrap up their conversation, Michelle packs away her things.

“You know, Spidey, you’re probably my favorite superhero,” she smiles. “But it’s probably biased since I’ve never interviewed a superhero before.”

“Really?” he perks his head upward. “Why would you say that?”

“Off the record,” she makes a journalist joke, “but… I’ve been somewhat reaching a low point in my life right now, and this interview… well, honestly, it just feels like a conversation really. It’s opening my eyes to a lot of things.” 

“That’s… that’s good,” he tiptoes and plants his feet flat. “I always heard low points can be solved by a drastic change.” 

“I think that, too,” she squints and raises her eyebrows, heart fluttering at the way Spider-Man somehow always knows what to say. “Is that something you did when you felt lost?” 

“Off the record,” he whispers to mimic her joke, “but yeah.” 

“What’d you do?”

“I can’t give that away,” he states firmly, “but when I did it, I finally felt like I was doing something for myself. You ready to go, ma’am?” 

He crouches down again, ready to lock Michelle back to safety. After asking her where to drop her off, he shoots his webs and off they go, swinging again in the dark of the night. As they’re in the sky, Michelle holds him tight and reflects on his ideas about having a support system, about bettering herself so she can be better for others. 

And she thinks of Peter Parker, and how she wants to do the same for him - how she wants to have his support and support him again because around him, she felt most like herself than ever before. She owes it to him, to Betty and Ned – hell, now even to Spider-Man – to be human again.

When they land on the ground in the alley beside her temporary apartment, she thanks Spider-Man one more time. 

“It’s strange,” she says, “it’s like I know who you are.” 

“You do?” he steps back.

“Yeah. You’re this… this wonderful person that deserves, really, a lot of love. I think you’re amazing.”

“Some people don’t,” he shrugs. “But that’s okay.” 

“Hopefully, I do you justice with what I write. I’ll do my best to.”

Spider-Man shoots his web to the side of the building and lifts himself off the ground, flipping his body upside down, eye level with Michelle. 

“I’m sure you will,” he affirms, but doesn’t leave his spot, still floating by Michelle. That growing connection comes back and tugs on her heartstrings, and as if from muscle memory, she lifts her hand and caresses the place on his mask that would be his cheek, running her thumb across his jaw. She has this want, this desire to go for it, to follow that pull to the hero, but the moment is fleeting, and there are sirens in the distance. He laughs to break the tension of what almost happened. “Duty calls.”

“I’ll see you around Spider-Man.”

And he’s off swinging away, leaving Michelle breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed her resolution with Harry, the swing, and the almost-upside down kiss! Whoops. :') 
> 
> More /Peter/ interactions in the next bit. As always, kudos and feedback are appreciated. 
> 
> I also made a Twitter so I could cry about PeterMJ more frequently. I swear this couple makes me breakdown every other night... @spideysmjs if you wanna scream about them with me. 
> 
> Also, this is a rather personal note for my U.S. folks out there, doesn't Daylight Savings Time absolutely suck? I've been in an incredibly unproductive rut the past few days... but writing this out really made me feel better!! 
> 
> Til next time, friends!


	6. the coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She feels the touch of his arms wrap around her, and her heart feels full and the tears don’t stop flowing, but she understands it’s more of a release of pain than imprisonment. The warmth of his body reassures her that, after this moment, they can rebuild. They can finally know each other again, but with the experience of how life was like without the other. They can rewire their experiences and instead of returning to how they used to be, they'll focus on what they can be."

Michelle wakes up on Monday morning feeling… light. 

Light as if she found the courage to jump out of the dreaded backseat of an unknown speeding car. Light as if the neverending downpour of hardships that she experienced last week decided to take it easy on her. Light as if the block on her creativity was uplifted. 

She needs to write. 

But she needs to get to work, first. 

And it hits her – she hasn’t felt this way about going to work in a long time. Being a journalist for the New York Times was always a pipe dream, and when she was offered a position to write for the Cultural section, she jumped at the chance – not really knowing she’d be given the throwaway articles about local concerts or art shows. Not that she hated it, not at all. Michelle enjoyed her job and meeting different people, but the way her boss demanded endless drafts of the same events and topics, her words began to feel recycled, spewing out them like an automaton. 

She had even requested different work, only to be told that her work was too perfect for what she was writing now and that they couldn’t lose such a star writer for local New York news. 

At first, she thought it was a subtle jab, Mr. Johnson picking on her for not having the capacity to write something bigger than articles about the place she was born and raised. But, she started to understand that she had to work her way up to greater because of the unfortunate way careers worked. So when Mr. Johnson approached her cubicle last week, demanding an article about the return of Spider-Man, she blindly jumped at the opportunity. 

As reluctant as she was about being given another _local_ news topic, her last couple of interviews with Spider-Man made Michelle realize that this was her way out of the rut of reviewing different coffee or bagel shops, her way to be printed for the first time, leaving a legacy on paper rather than a tinyurl link posted on their Twitter.

She’s ready for more, and she’s ready to deliver the best damn article anyone’s ever seen about the web-slinger, who she has to remember to thank for feeling this strong, unwavering splash of inspiration hitting her hard on a Monday morning. 

“You’re looking really chipper today,” Ned greets Michelle after she walks out, finally dressed in clothes not owned by Betty Brant - God bless her, but pastels really aren’t Michelle’s favorite. 

“I am, Leeds, and it’s because I have a great feeling about the second draft of this article,” she walks over to the kitchen, preparing a cup of Keurig coffee, making a mental note to gift Ned and Betty better tasting, freshly-brewed coffee a la Michelle Jones as a thank you for allowing her to be a hermit in their home. 

“That’s great,” he bounces from his seat at the table. “When is the article supposed to be published?” 

“I need to have it ready for print by next Wednesday morning,” a grin forming in her face, the physical feeling she didn’t realize she’s forgotten. 

“Dude!” he raises his hand for a high five, the clashing sound of hands echoing in the silence of the living room. “I’m so happy for you!” 

“Yeah,” she sips her mug, “I’m happy too.” 

* * *

  
When she clocks in at work and makes her way to the little cubicle next to Cindy, Michelle sees it: the vase of roses and sunflowers staring at her dead in the face. The flowers from Harry, still living and breathing, saturated with the reds and yellows and greens that she loves so much. Although the gift is tainted by an apology that never lasted, she wills herself to still enjoy her favorite flowers – not allowing the people of her past to taint her new outlook on the future. 

“Hey, you weren’t at work on Friday, so I put sugar in the vase to make them last longer,” Cindy greets Michelle, and she realizes she’s got a lot to catch her up on.

“Thanks,” Michelle smiles, saving the depressing news for later. “I was working remote, I interviewed Spider-Man twice in the past few days.”

“Oh, you figured it out! How did that go?” she stops her photo editing and pushes her swiveling chair closer to look at Michelle. 

“It was really…. Cool.”

“Cool?”

“He swung me around the city,” she whispers. 

“What?” Cindy exclaims, pushing herself closer to Michelle's cubicle. 

“We went on the rooftop of some building to do the interview… I got really great material, too, and I really think that I write something great about it. I have a lot of ideas for the second draft already,” she continues, “and I think Johnson’s really gonna like this.” 

“Sounds like you had a great weekend,” Cindy smiles slowly rolling back to her own desk. 

“How was your weekend?” Michelle returns.

“Terrible,” Cindy frowns. “Moving back with my parents after graduating has been rough. They’re really down my back about finding a second job because they don’t think this is sustainable. It sucks when you want to live your dream and your parents don’t really let you.” 

Out of all the ways her parents acted, Michelle has never experienced the idea of not being able to aim for your goals, no matter how outrageous. In fact, they thrived off encouraging Michelle to go for it. She feels for Cindy, not even being able to imagine how life must be if her parents told her she couldn’t do it – _it_ being, anything really. 

“And then they’ll ask me if I’m dating someone or when I’m going to give them grandkids, even though all my life until college they told me to not focus on boys. Imagine how much they’ll freak out when I tell them I’m gay,” Cindy scoffs. “I really just… need to get out of there.” 

Something clicks within Michelle, finding another reason to enjoy her day. 

“Cindy, let’s find an apartment together,” she says, now being the one to scoot closer to Cindy's space. 

“What?” Cindy laughs. “Are you serious? What about Harry?”

Michelle takes a deep breath. 

“I have a _ lot _to tell you.” 

During the lunch break, Michelle suggests the old diner to Cindy. Over a patty melt and fries, she catches Cindy up on the past few days, only realizing that it’s barely been a week since this whole thing began. Cindy listens intently, hands wrapped around hot chocolate. 

“Wow,” is what Cindy lets out after Michelle finishes the summary of her break up. “I’m glad that you’ve gotten yourself out of that though.” 

“Me too. I really have to learn how to love myself before others can love me, you know?” she finishes the last bite of her patty melt. 

“Oh, Michelle, I don’t think that’s what it is,” Cindy puts her mug down. “Self-love isn’t linear you know? And just because it’s hard to love yourself, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love from other people.”

Michelle, not knowing how to respond, lets her continue. 

“I mean, yes, of course, put yourself first - always. But life isn’t always about empowerment and independence. It’s okay to want a partnership,” Cindy smiles. 

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” Michelle picks at the uneaten crust of her sandwich. “So, what do you say, though? Roommates?” 

“I’ll look for cheap places tonight,” Cindy grins. “Should I find a place with a nice rooftop for you and Spider-Man to have your dates on?” 

“What?” Michelle throws her head back in disbelief. “Interviews aren’t a date, Cindy.”

“We’ll see about that,” she raises her eyebrows. “A rooftop conversation is pretty romantic.” 

Michelle pulls back a smile when she thinks of how close she had been to kissing Spider-Man the night before – a detail she left out from Cindy. How could a stranger make her feel this way? 

“Well, the interview’s done, Cind, I’m not going to see him any time soon,” she rolls her eyes and cuts the discussion short. She pretends to ignore Cindy’s smirk.

* * *

The rest of the workday flies by with Michelle clocking out on time after dropping off the second draft of her essay, much to Johnson’s surprise after his rather blunt edits and notes on the margins of her first draft. He comments on having the edits done by Thursday and assigns her a couple of short pieces to post throughout the week about the opening of a new bodega in Queens causing new competition for foot traffic. 

Dark, grey clouds begin to form in the sky on her way home, Michelle remembering the announcement of a storm creeping up on New York. She decides then to purchase a new umbrella and stop by her favorite coffee shop to pick up new beans for her favorite couple. 

_ Chocolate Raspberry Flavored Beans _

_ Sweet and velvety combination. A taste of something natural and calming giving a coffee lover the familiar experience of flavor, while adding a surprising kick of excitement. _

As she goes for the bag, her hands clash with someone else. And, of course, like everything that has happened to her thus far, she reminds herself that the universe’s timing is impeccable when she realizes she’s face-to-face with Peter. 

They share an awkward laugh before Peter pulls his hand away, using it to scratch his head before greeting Michelle. 

“Hey MJ,” his voice is small and shy. “You can take the last bag.” 

“No, no it’s okay,” she grabs it and hands it over.

“You like making coffee a lot more than me,” he recalls as he pushes the bag toward her, “and definitely way better.” 

“Alright,” she agrees, searching for the ounce of courage to suggest, “Only if you let me make you a cup.”

His eyes widen as he opens his mouth and closes it again, wheels in his brain turning to find the appropriate response to her. Years later, and Michelle still finds his stuttering and nervousness more endearing than ever. 

“Uh, I don’t want to sound too forward… but, are you busy right now?”

“I’m not.” 

“Cool,” he mutters. “Cause, I mean, I know you like to plan things ahead and whatnot and this is totally the opposite of that, but maybe you can come over and make the coffee and we can catch up like we said we would, and oh! Dinner, I forgot about–”

“Peter.”

“Yeah?” he cuts himself off from his ramblings. 

“I’d love to,” she smiles. 

The walk to Peter’s place was mostly quiet, Michelle being grateful that it took no less than 10 minutes to get there. As he unlocks his door to welcome her in, she’s overwhelmed by nostalgia, thinking back to the moments when this was routine. When this was their thing. 

Peter’s space is small, an open space where the kitchen and living room almost connect - only separated by the difference of tile and carpet. Like Ned’s and Betty’s, there are picture frames and a few decorations hung all over the walls with plants dressing the built-in seat by the window sill. 

Michelle walks further inside after Peter closes the door behind them, looking at the living room that houses one worn and lived couch and a small TV accompanied by a gaming console and wired remotes scattered on the floor. There’s clutter everywhere, open game cases and stacks of papers Michelle assumes are from work, and the place feels like _ Peter _– cozy and warm, similar to Aunt May’s apartment (from what Michelle remembers). 

“Sorry, it’s so messy,” he tries to push the remote controls off the floor and align the stack of papers neatly on the coffee table. “If I expected guests I would have tidied up a bit.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s perfect,” she takes one more look around. “So coffee?” 

“Yeah, sure,” he races to the kitchen and pulls out a French Press and presents it to Michelle. 

Once finished with her process, she hands a mug over to Peter, and they both plop on the couch, an air of distance and silence between them until finally, Peter speaks up. 

“I just wanna say… I miss you,” he sips. “And that this is really good, but I’m not surprised.” 

“Thanks,” she wraps her hands around the warmth of the mug. “I miss you too.”

“Listen… I kind of want to be completely candid and honest with you right now, if that’s okay.”

Michelle nods, a little fearful of what Peter has to say, despite their last text message conversation being about unpacking the tension that’s been built between the two of them. 

“I kind of never stop thinking about you?” he blurts out. “Not in that way… Well, it used to be, but… Wait, um, let me reword…” 

She sips her coffee.

“Okay, well, there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t feel guilty about what happened. I let… jealousy get the best of me, and I uh, well I ruined a perfectly good friendship that I didn’t really deserve in the first place… 

“Like, MJ, honestly, you were so good to me. I was a jerk for the most part because I took you for granted. And, you know, three years without you - it’s a really long time and it’s made me reflect on how incredibly young and dumb I was. I’m so sorry. You don’t understand how sorry I am,” there’s a tremble to his voice as everything spills out of his mouth as if everything has been built up to this moment. 

“I should have reached out way sooner, but I figured you were fine without me, and I didn’t want to bother you anymore… I thought you hated me… but then, then I saw you again and… and I was just so overwhelmed with how much I missed you and everything came rushing back to me, and god, I couldn’t say anything because… I don’t know… I just sound like an idiot right now but…”

“Peter,” she interrupts him, scooting closer and placing a hand on his, dancing on a dangerous line between risk and reward. “You don’t sound like an idiot.”

He takes his hand from under her to wipe the tears running down his face. He doesn’t put his hand back.

“I shouldn’t have cut you off,” she pushes the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I… don’t know if I’m at the capacity to tell you everything, but… I’m – I’m not with Harry anymore. I shouldn’t have been with him… I did it for the wrong reasons. And right now, honestly, nothing in my life is making sense except for my job. And I just – I really have to focus on myself.” 

“I know you do, and you’re good at it,” he smiles. “You taught me how to do that.” 

Memories of those conversations come rushing back to her head. The conversations that had only made Michelle like Peter even more but at the same time, reminded her that she shouldn't try to fix someone who's broken – that she needed to be patient with him. Perhaps, she didn't wait for him enough. 

“I’m sorry, Peter. Even if you think everything is your fault… Even if it might be a fact that it is… I’m sorry. I just am.” 

“It’s okay,” he accepts her apology. 

“God I don’t know why I’m crying, I thought I was done with that last week,” she sniffles and looks up at the ceiling as if it’d make the tears stop from flowing down her face. She closes her eyes, allowing herself to feel the immense sorrow, pain, and guilt wash over her, promising to herself that once the tears empty out, she’ll regain the strength to rebuild herself from this chapter of her life. 

Suddenly, she feels the touch of Peter's arms wrap around her, and her heart feels full and the tears don’t stop flowing, but she understands it’s more of a release of pain than imprisonment. The warmth of his body reassures her that, after this moment, they can rebuild. They can finally know each other again, but with the experience of how life was like without the other. They can rewire their experiences and instead of returning to how they used to be, they'll focus on what they can be.

Peter and MJ, MJ and Peter. 

As she finds the energy to wrap her arms around Peter’s neck, she shivers at the tickle of his nose pressed against her hair, feeling the way Peter’s taking her all in – taking this moment as if it might be their last one again.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he mumbles into her hair.

Michelle pulls away from him, and as she looks into his eyes, there’s a slow build of fear turning in her gut – a fear that she might not be able to commit to Peter, in this reimagined way, a fear that she might allow herself to fall for him again. 

She can’t let that happen. 

She can’t because, of all things Peter Parker deserves, it’s not her. 

It isn’t her because Michelle doesn’t know how to love properly, she doesn’t know what it takes to put herself to someone else – she learned that from her experience with Harry. What she thought was her giving her all into a relationship, was her loving him the wrong way. 

She doesn’t want to do that to Peter. She can’t. Not again. 

He doesn’t deserve to be walked away from, but from everything that’s happened in Michelle’s life, it feels as though that’s the only thing she knows how to do. 

“I… I have to go,” she frowns. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“MJ, wait–”

“No… I… I’m sorry. I promise I’m not cutting you off. I just… I just need time.”

“Time?”

“I don’t know… To think… I… I’m sorry, for everything, but… my life right now. It’s not the best,” she stands up and grabs her coat from the couch. 

“At least let me walk you home,” he begs.

“No… no it’s okay. I... I’m sorry, Peter.”

Once her coat is on, she heads to the door. A part of her wants to stay, wants to talk about what’s on her mind, to tell him that she doesn’t want to walk away from this again. 

From him. 

From them. 

But another part of her, the part of her that woke up this morning and told her to take it easy, fights against the other, reminding her that this is the best choice – that she has to remember to not crawl back, that she has to run before she’s in too deep.

And so she does, shutting the door behind her, two mugs of coffee on the table – still warm, but left untouched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just not that easy, folks. Buckle up, there's a storm coming! 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos appreciated. Also, we stan a QPOC (Cindy) <3
> 
> Have a nice day, you cutie pies. 
> 
> @spideysmjs on Twitter, let's be friends.


	7. the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And then everything clicks."

“So are you up for it?” Cindy asks over a phone call. Michelle’s bundled up in the bed, fuzzy socks keeping her toes toasty as the rain begins to pour outside the bedroom window. The rainfall began Monday night, right as she got back from Peter’s apartment, convinced that the weather was mocking her. 

Cindy’s old college roommate was subletting her two-bedroom apartment for a year, fully furnished and 20 minutes away from work. Cindy had explained to Michelle the reasoning behind the roommate’s leave of absence, but Michelle was distracted, focusing on the raindrops hitting the glass of her window. 

“Yeah, that sounds great, Cind.” Michelle glances at the time, realizing she hadn’t eaten dinner. It’s been a hard task to complete the past few days, the rain making life all the more difficult. 

“You can probably move in this weekend if you really need to. If the rain ever stops,” her co-worker groans. Michelle sighs, recalling the forecast promised rain until Monday. 

“I don’t think it will. I’ll wait it out,” Michelle yawns, stretching her body underneath her blanket. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Cindy.” 

“Bye, Michelle.” She ends the call, looking at the time again. Michelle knows she’d eventually have to feed herself sometime before sleeping, yet she continues to stall it, inching closer and closer to midnight. The blue light of her screen stares back at her as she waits for something that won’t happen. 

It’d been two days since she’d ran out of Peter’s apartment, since she stopped him from telling her whatever secret he was harboring. A part of Michelle wanted to call him, to see if it had been what she’d assumed it was. But she was afraid, knowing that if Peter confessed his feelings in front of her in an outright way, Michelle wouldn’t be able to emotionally commit to him, after everything. 

He’d tell her, and she’d crash and burn thinking about the fear of love, the fear of committing to someone that she’s not certain can handle her. These days, Michelle wasn’t certain anyone _ could _stand her. Each time she’d envision a life with Peter Parker, a life of growing old and being in love, she thought about what happened with Harry – about how it came falling down on her because she’d let her guard down, never once believing their relationship had gone awry until it was already over. 

She didn’t want that with Peter, to hurt someone as loving and willing as him. And at the same time, Peter’s hurt her before. Granted, he hadn’t realized what he’d been doing – he was always distracted by one thing or another, always processing grief that never seemed to go away for him. He deserved someone that lightened his load, someone that took away the pain of everything he’s gone through – Michelle couldn’t offer that. She’d gone through her own indiscernible amount of pain, thinking she’d only bring him down more.

Still, something within Michelle wanted Peter to call, wanted him to make that first move and fight for her. She’s exhausted. From the break up, the most important article she’d ever write about local New York news, the apartment search – everything. But she knew he wouldn’t, not after walking away and spitting in his face that she didn’t have the time for him at that moment. She felt like a jerk, but she needed to do this for herself. 

A noise emits from her phone, but it wasn’t the name she’d wanted. Her boss emailed her the final notes for revising the Spider-Man article. Mr. Johnson has never been one to praise his employees, the best compliment Michelle’s ever gotten had been an acknowledgment of meeting deadlines. But when she opened the email to see the notes, her heart swelled. 

_ Great work. This could really be something beautiful. _

She read it three times over, a burst of pride in herself struck her. This article seemed to be the one task in her life going in the right direction. She had Spider-Man to thank for being willing to speak to her twice, to be open with her as much as he could without revealing too much. She thought of emailing Pepper, of asking to talk to him – to tell him personally that the article’s exceeded Mr. Johnson’s expectations, but she felt silly for this. 

It’s unreal to think that she’d felt so connected to Spider-Man in the few times she’d run into him, the first time being a result of one too many cocktails and impeccable cosmic timing, like the universe was trying to tell her something that she’d already known. There’d been something about Spider-Man that piqued her interest, even in high school when she’d heard rumors about a new vigilante when she’d read the ridiculous Daily Bugle articles about the web-slinging _ menace_.

She never believed the Bugle. Michelle appreciated that Spider-Man operated as a hero for the underdogs, and her appreciation for him only grew stronger when she’d met Peter and Ned, the two co-presidents of his fan club. They’d never included her in those conversations unless she’d chimed in, asking about the hero. It was their strange _ thing,_ and she didn’t really mind not knowing the details of the superhero’s life – she didn’t understand why the two had been so invested in Spider-Man, talking in hushed tones in the library or diner or wherever they’d choose to study that night. Then again, she figured the two had obsessive personalities, them being into Star Wars and the Last Airbender and any other thing you could produce theories out of. 

But secretly, she rooted for Spider-Man, too. 

Now, being able to get his insight, she knew she’d made the right choice in believing in him – even after he took that break, knowing that he’s human like everyone. And with the article, she had the chance of proving anyone who believed in the Daily Bugle wrong. 

Her stomach grumbles in distress. She reluctantly removes herself from the comfort of her sheets and stepped out in the living room, seeing Ned in his usual position at his PC and Betty on the kitchen table, solving a page of sudoku. 

“I found a new place,” Michelle informs them. The two look up from their respective spots in the living room. “I’ll probably move out after the rain stops.” 

“I’ll miss you, roomie,” Ned jokes, scanning Michelle up and down. “Are you going out?”

“Yeah, I’m going to grab a bite to eat.” Betty looks at her Apple Watch and frowns. 

“We have leftovers in the fridge if you–”

“It’s okay, Betty,” Michelle slips her feet into her rain boots. 

“It’s pouring outside,” Ned fights.

“I’m well-equipped,” she gestures in her all-black raincoat, sweats, and boots. “I’ll be okay.”

“Be safe,” the couple warns Michelle simultaneously. She nods in gratitude before walking out the door. 

She’d caught the rain at the right time in one of the breaks between its heavy downpour. Michelle didn’t exactly know what she was craving, or if she’d left to eat or just to get out of the house. The streets were scarce of pedestrians, most of whom were the bravest bunch to go out in the rain like Michelle. She had no problem with the weather; Michelle always thought the rain was a gentle reminder that it’s important to relax and do nothing. 

After running into the third pizza parlor since walking, she gave up on figuring out her craving and slide into an empty booth, the only company in the shop being the adolescent cashier and a couple of chefs in the back. The cashier, who’d probably run out of tasks to complete in this ungodly shift, personally handed Michelle her order of two pepperoni pizzas on a paper plate, the slices looking promising. 

As she devours her late-night dinner, the door opens, revealing the return of the heavy precipitation and the voice of a chipper woman greeting the cashier with such kindness, despite the overall mood of the night being quite the opposite. 

“Hmm, let’s have three boxes of meat lover’s pizza,” the woman says, “my nephew has quite the appetite and I suspect he’s not in the best mood if he called me last minute to come home for a bit.” 

Michelle freezes. She’d know that voice anywhere – the voice of an inspiring woman who loves unconditionally, the voice of someone who’d taken her in as her own, Peter once explaining that it was just her habit. 

She curls into herself at the booth, hoping that Aunt May wouldn’t recognize who she was or bother to check if it was Michelle. However, Michelle should have known that May was too nice to avoid her. 

“MJ!” she greets her as she awaits the three boxes of pizza. 

“Hi, Mrs. Parker,” Michelle pushes her plate further away from her body as if it’d do anything to ease the tension building within her. 

“Oh, sweetie, when would I ever want you to call me that?” she laughs. May’s being kind, as always, and it doesn’t feel manufactured despite the fact that she’d probably known every little detail of Michelle’s mistakes with her nephew. It makes Michelle feel comfortable knowing that May doesn’t give her the cold shoulder, and brings her at ease knowing that she’s the most genuine person Michelle’s ever known. 

May probably knew about Monday, too. 

“Peter has a late night in the office,” she explains as the cashier presents her three large boxes of pizza on the counter, despite Michelle remembering Peter had explained he’d been in between jobs just last week. “Didn’t have a chance to eat dinner before coming home.” 

She doesn’t ask about it, not risking showing any interest in the matter in the case that May would tell Peter she’d run into her. 

“How’ve you been, Michelle?” she asks, despite the fact that she could leave.

“I’m alright,” she’s honest. She ponders the potential conversational topics to mention without bringing up Peter. “I think I’m really close to having a breakthrough for the _ Times_. I wrote this article… about Spider-Man. And it’s the first time my boss has ever complimented me for my work.” 

As if it were possible, the bright look in May’s eyes shine harder, not appearing surprised at all by Michelle’s accomplishment. “You’re very talented – you deserve it.” 

“Thank you.” 

May keeps smiling at the new information, Michelle wondering why May had been so excited at the mention of her article. “Well, I’m sure Spider-Man will _ love _whatever you’ve written, as will all of us. It was nice seeing you, MJ.” 

Michelle’s back to being alone, save for those imprisoned in a minimum wage job. She reflects on her conversation with May, about how she’d brought up Peter’s work, and how it didn’t sit right with her. May, being as genuine as she always is, seemed to be hiding something. And the same feeling comes back, the one that’s been in the back of her head, that one that tells her she’s missing something. 

She curses at how often she’s run into the Parkers the past week, wondering where this all came from, thinking as if breaking up with Harry opened a door of different paths she could pick from. That, or it had just opened a can of worms. 

Her pizza’s already cold, but she sticks it through, realizing how late it was, the clock almost turning to ring in the next day. After finishing her sad excuse of a dinner, she waves the employees goodbye and braces herself for the storm.

When she steps out, the wetness of the air made the streets feel more eerie, like she’d needed to make her way towards the apartment quicker than she’d wandered for different food options just an hour ago. Michelle hides under her umbrella, gripping the handle with full intentions of using it to whack anyone who’d try to surprise her. With her dual-functioning umbrella, she squints through the rain, trying her best to stay at the very edge of the sidewalk, avoiding any dark alley. 

Michelle’s nearing a corner when she hears a group of deep, maniacal laughter paired with several rough punches to another body. She halts, sticking her back against the wall. 

“Come on, is that all you got?” a voice snorts.

“Yeah, where’s your power now?” another adds.

“Ain’t anything without that sticky machine of yours being jammed?” a third voice, possibly the angriest voice, seethes. It’s Spider-Man, but with the lack of his clever comebacks.

He needs help. 

Michelle wants to offer it. Her heart’s racing, thinking of the possible actions she can take to save him time, to somehow make his web-shooters work. She closes her umbrella and grips it with her right hand while her left-hand reaches for the paper spray in her jacket, ready to attack whoever Spider-Man’s assailants were. 

She snakes around the corner, tiptoeing to the alley they were beating the guy senselessly in. She doesn’t enter yet, praying that the sound of the rain covered her footsteps. Her hero’s blocked by a garbage bin, Michelle only making out three figures taking turns laughing at punching him. 

“Why don’t we see who you really are,” one of them says, leaning forward and returning into her view with Spider-Man’s mask in his hand.

“That’s not allowed,” Spider-Man grumbles. 

“Look at that. Just a whimpy motherfucker behind this piece of crap,” the man tosses the mask on the ground behind him. 

“Hey!” she yells, frustration boiling inside her at the audacity of these men to rip away at Spider-Man. The three turn simultaneously and laugh at her. 

“You got yourself a hero, Spidey,” they move closer to Michelle, abandoning him completely. Her heart rate increases, and she’s lost proper pacing of her breath. A sudden rush of anxiety comes over her the closer that the men step. She starts backing up, putting her pepper spray back into her pocket as she uses both hands to grip the umbrella and use it as a barrier between her and the group of men. “Or a heroine is more like it.” 

“Look at her,” one says. “What’s a woman like you doing all alone in the rain?” 

She steps back. Spider-Man’s going to save her. She’s distracted the men, and this is the plan. She knows he will – she trusts him. 

“All sexy in that all black outfit,” another says. Michelle’s, more disgusted at the unnecessarily lewd comments rather than fearful of what could happen. She hears Spider-Man smacking his web-shooters, Michelle praying that she hears the familiar sound of a thwip. 

“Saving Spider-Man won’t get you any brownie points, babe.” One of them, the man with the angriest voice, steps closer to her. She refuses to get any closer, but her hands have frozen in fear, lacking the energy to swing her umbrella, and suddenly, Michelle falls over the curb, tossing herself into the street and cursing into the rain at how ridiculous her idea was. 

There’s a sharp pain in one of her ankles, and her umbrella’s now tossed on the floor. After recollecting herself in an attempt to avoid the soreness in her foot, she realized, that the criminals had fallen on the floor as well. The rain is beating down on her face, showering her hair and blurring her vision. She hears punches and bodies slamming into walls, wincing at the undeniable pain striking her ankle. 

A loud horn pierces the air, overpowering the sound of echo of water growling against the ground. She looks to her right to see two bright headlights speeding toward her. A scream escapes her lungs, but Michelle doesn’t have time to think, her last thought only that she was about to die. 

But, in an instant, she’s in the air, dancing with the rain in the arms of Spider-Man, who scooped her up just a few seconds in time. Naturally, Michelle loops her arms around his neck, eyes remain shut unable to process that she’d almost been smushed by a truck. She feels his bare skin, the sudden awareness that if she’d just open her eyes at this very moment, she’d learn how he looks like. 

She keeps them closed.

“Hold on, ma’am,” he feigns a deep voice before landing again on quickly. He carefully places her on the street opposite of the alley he’d taken a beating in. “Stay right here.” 

He runs back to the alley, and when Michelle finally wills herself to open her eyes, his head’s a blurry image of hair, harder to see with the rain in her way and her heart still trying to return to its resting rate. 

But when Spider-Man comes back to Michelle, he’s back in his complete attire, bug eyes shifting as if returning back to its normal state, hands on his hips. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks her. “Do you need medical attention?” 

He steps closer, examining her. 

“How is it that I’m always finding you in alleys?” she asks, a brightness in her voice despite nearly dying. He chuckles as he shakes his head.

“Maybe we’re just always meant to find each other eventually,” he says, his words comforting Michelle in a way that felt familiar, a way that felt like home. 

“I’d say thank you for saving my life, Spider-Man, but you broke my umbrella,” she frowns jokingly. “I just bought it, too.” 

“I should be thanking _ you_,” he returns. “And I can get you a new umbrella. I’m insured for rain gear.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, taking a deep breath before she risks herself for embarrassment. “Though I could use a lift home.” 

His eyes widen, voice stuttering an answer. “Sure, sure.” 

They get into a swinging position, and he’s gripping tighter than the first time because of the slippery texture of his suit. After telling him it’s only three blocks away, they jump into the sky. 

The journey back to Ned’s and Betty’s only took ten minutes and her eyes were shut the entire time, and although this is only her second time in the sky with him, it’s something she could get used to. But she keeps that thought locked inside her head, knowing that her little crush on the superhero would mean absolutely nothing to him if she’d admitted it out loud. 

When they land back down, she’s hesitant to let go.

“We’re here,” he giggles. Although the rain’s potentially frozen her entire immune system, she can feel her face flush in the cold air. 

“Right,” she hops off of him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I think I’m going to have to call in a sick day at work tomorrow, but I’ll manage,” she shrugs.

“Being sick is awful.” 

There’s a beat of silence between them as Michelle thinks of any way to prolong their conversation so he doesn’t swing away even though she’s being attacked by persistent drops of water. 

“I’m almost done with your article,” she offers. 

“No way! That’s awesome,” he perks up. “I’m excited to read it. Wednesday right?”

“Right,” Michelle loses the words to say to him, struck by nerves.

There’s a buzzing in his suit. “Ah, I’m running late to something.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you,” she backs away. 

“It’s quite alright, Michelle.” He checks both his web-shooters before refilling it with a pod from his belt. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Take care of yourself,” he reminds her, like always, before shooting up a web near the top of the building, lifting himself off and hanging upside down again like a true arachnid. She laughs at him.

“Before you go, Spidey, I…” she starts again, trying her best to find her voice before deflating and giving up. “Thank you.”

“I said you’re welcome,” he muffles through the mask. Michelle moves closer to him, bringing her hand to his cheek again, falling back into that same position from before. 

The rain pours hard around them. Thunder cracks the air. 

“You’ll get sick if you’re out here longer,” he whispers. Her hand moves to the patch of the mask that connects. His breath hitches, not stopping her from slowly pulling it down, revealing wet skin. She keeps going until his mouth is freed from the material. 

She pauses. His suit buzzes again. She thumbs his sharp jawline, wishing she could look into his eyes instead of his neck. 

“For a second, I thought you were going to take my mask completely o–” he says before being interrupted by the crash of Michelle’s lips against his. The kiss is wet and salty from the storm and sweat from saving her as she pushes her tongue into his mouth, hungry for more. 

She feels his hand hover over her, placing it lightly at the back of her head, pulling her closer. His lips are soft, small, and familiar – like she’s experienced this before, sending her into a dream-like state. But as she keeps kissing him, she thinks of Peter. 

And then everything clicks.

The taste of his mouth, the touch of his hand. The kindness, patience, encouragement. His reminders to put herself first in words that she’d use on him years ago. The pieces of information that never added up. She finally decodes the feeling that lingers in the back of her head, connecting all of the emotions that washed over her when she’d be around Spider-Man, and how she felt the same way around Peter. It’s him.

She pulls away from his lips, backing away slowly. The silence between them falls harder than the rain, lasting for more beats than ever before. 

“Peter?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later than expected, but I hope you all enjoyed it! Feel free to scream at me in the comments. I enjoy that stuff. 
> 
> I'm sorry I'm always ending the chapters like this?????? (I'm not).
> 
> Kiss inspired by Raimi’s rendition.
> 
> <3


	8. the move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell, at this point she misses her unrequited crush for Peter, that heart pulling feeling when she’d look at him and know that it could never work out because they’d met each other at the wrong time – at a time where neither of them were ready. But now, she’d give anything back to feel that innocently painful crush. 
> 
> To feel anything but the numbness spreading throughout her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me a while to post a new chapter. In short, my life has been a rollercoaster lately, and I've only found the time now to focus on writing - especially because this story means a lot to me emotionally and mentally. 
> 
> The way I write this story is akin to a stream of consciousness. I've used this as a way to really figure out myself and my own emotions through Michelle as a character. I know this fact probably doesn't matter as much to you, but I want you all to know that's why I like to take my time on it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It all happens fast.

The kiss, the realization, the anger boiling beneath her skin – beneath his.

Michelle wishes it went differently, wishes that she didn’t speak before thinking and took the time to measure things through. But she didn’t, and neither did Peter. 

All she can think about is the way her legs took control of her mind and body as she runs out of the rain and into the apartment building, climbing three flights of stairs, zooming past Betty and Ned in the living room, and locking herself into a bedroom that only amplifies her thoughts about him.

Everything – the smell of the room, the emptiness of the space, and even her own damn painting hung above the bed – laughs at Michelle. She stays in her drenched clothing, not bothering to wash away the sloshy dirt from the storm, replaying the words that spewed out from both of their mouths. 

“Peter?” she breathed, backing away from the masked hero, whose lips tasted like a faded photograph buried underneath a collection of forgotten items locked away in a box. 

He responded through actions, twisting himself right side up and landing on the ground, inching closer to Michelle with caution as he carefully pulled red and blue mask off, revealing his face to be the one and only, Peter Parker. 

“MJ,” he started, Michelle shook her head in disbelief, in anger, _ in hurt. _

“This whole time?” her voice cracked. “It was you this _ whole _ time.” 

“You have to try to understand,” he said. 

“Try me,” she seethed through her teeth. “Because all I’ve ever done since meeting you was try to understand you, Peter.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he explained, “but–” 

“But _ what _ ? But you didn’t think I’d care? Did you not think I would understand? Out of all the years we were friends – after being there with you, through _ everything _, you thought this one stupid secret would tear us apart?” 

“It was never the right time!” he belted, flailing his arms in the air, creating more space between them. “And I’ve never told anyone before...” 

“Bullshit,” she spewed.

“Everyone else just found out!” he defended himself and added, “Plus I didn’t want to be a bigger burden to you than I already was.”

“A burden?” Michelle scoffed. “You were the fucking world to me, Peter. I can’t believe you still don’t understand that.” 

“You can’t just put everything on me, MJ,” he rolled his eyes. He was angry, and she could tell there were many things that Peter wanted to say but couldn’t find the words to say it, something that – despite having grown from his past – he still hadn’t mastered. “You had Harry. And you stopped talking to me.”

“I wasn’t going to wait on you forever,” she said with an exasperated conviction that silenced Peter. “Not forever.”

He stood there, eyes looking everywhere except at her. He was at a loss for words, and it was then that Michelle realized the rain had stopped in the midst of their conversation, only light sprinkles meeting contact with her skin, raindrops replacing the tears she didn’t allow herself to cry. 

“And I’m still not,” she added, moving past him and walking away knowing it wasn’t the right thing to do but she wasn’t in the mood to try to fix it. 

Now, sitting on the floor of the room that isn’t hers under the roof of friends she knew she’d lose again after this, Michelle finally begins to sob, ignoring the light knock against the door followed by it opening. “Michelle?” 

She doesn’t look up, her gasps only growing louder and dryer, unable to focus on anything other than the way her mind, body, and soul pushed her to the edge and now she’s spilling everywhere. Life hasn’t given her a break, throwing her problems one after the other. The past weeks were her lowest lows, but her highest highs – the highest being hundreds of feet in the air in the arms of her favorite person, and of all the terrible shit she’s gone through, the lowest is discovering that that same person had lied to her this entire time. 

Betty calls her name again, one hand lightly falling onto Michelle’s shoulder with a touch that softened the moment.

“Did you know, too? About Spider-Man?” Michelle lets out in sharp breaths as she feels the breeze of the living room hit the dampness of her back.

“On accident,” Betty says, confirming that what Peter had told Michelle was true. “This year. When Ned and I got home from Paris last August.”

“Oh,” Michelle whispers. 

“Peter moved out, and he left a box of things he didn’t want to take with him to his new place.”

_Her painting._

“He left an old webshooter on accident.” The rain picks up again, slapping against the bedroom window. Michelle lifts her head from her knees, resting it against the bed. “Why don’t we get you out of those wet clothes?” 

Michelle appreciates Betty more than she knows, knowing that despite the fact that two years of their friendship went missing, she’s willing to be here. From the moment Betty went from the zombie nurse from the Halloween party to someone who Ned dated, from finally becoming officially to now being engaged – Michelle always found a soft spot for Betty. They found comfort in each other knowing they were best friends with the two biggest idiots on the planet, sharing glances at their handshake or going on endless rants about them. 

She misses college.

She misses the stress bringing their group together, the movie nights where Peter would choose the saddest films, their game nights, and everything in between. Hell, at that point she misses her unrequited crush for Peter, that heart pulling feeling when she’d look at him and know that it could never work out because they’d met each other at the wrong time – at a time where neither of them were ready. But now, she’d give anything back to feel that innocently painful crush. 

To feel anything but the numbness spreading throughout her body. 

“Yeah,” she finally answers Betty as she accepts the hand offering to pull her up, to pull her away from the freezing cold. But instead of walking away, Betty pulls Michelle into a hug despite being in her night robe, already prepared for bed. That touch is all it takes for Michelle to cry again, this time soft against the top of Betty’s head, only now realizing how much she towers over her.

After pulling away, Betty smiles at her. “I hope you know that we’re still friends. All of us.” 

Michelle blinks slowly, the wet trail on her face dripping down to her chin. “Thanks.”

“I mean Peter, too. And I know that’s probably the last name you want to hear right now, but I want you to know that he’d never do anything to hurt you intentionally. I know that doesn’t help much – I know that he still hurt you at the end of the day, but… he cares about you.” 

Michelle knows that. She’s too aware of how much she knows that, and that’s what terrifies her. Peter’s always cared for her, showed it in ways she may not have understood before.

“I know,” she lets out air through her nose. “And that’s what scares me.” 

Both girls walk out of the room, and before Betty disappears into hers, Michelle stops her.

“Betty?” 

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell him.” 

Betty smiles, tilting her head. “I won’t.” 

  
  


_ To: _ _[ michellejones@nytimes.com](mailto:michellejones@nytimes.com)  
__From: _ [ _ ctjohnson@nytimes.com _ ](mailto:ctjohnson@nytimes.com) _   
__Subject: Final Edits_

  
_Michelle,_

_ Your article has improved miraculously since its first draft. Thank you for sending in the edits with a one day turnaround. Consider these final notes, and we should be good to print – even earlier than the projected date. How does Sunday’s print sound for you? _

_ This is your best work yet, Jones. _

_ Chris Jonhson  
_ _Local News Head Editor  
_ _New York Times _  
  
  


A Friday morning never felt more rewarding, returning back to her cubicle next to Cindy after opting to work remotely the day before. Michelle needed it after not being able to fall asleep until morning, using her article as a way to spiral into a world devoid of Peter Parker, despite technically writing about him. 

Michelle attached the draft to an email as the sun began to rise and she slipped into her bed, lying to her boss that she’d be working remotely on her other, smaller article. She slept until 3pm yesterday, already almost seeing the moon because of the way autumn takes away the sun from the sky.

However, this morning, she had the courage to drag herself out of bed and commit to a full day of work, to push out her last sprinkle of effort into the Spider-Man article so she no longer had to think about the thousands of reasons why Peter Parker was an amazing human being – realizing she used this article as an escape from the reality of confronting her own feelings about Peter. 

Michelle likes him. She _ loves _him. She probably always has and always will because the universe made it that way. She hasn’t found the energy to pick up her phone and call him, knowing that she needs to clear the air, that Michelle needs to tell him why she kept walking away. Although she doesn’t know what she wants, or if she even wants something with Peter right now, she knows he deserves an explanation and deserves to know everything that has lead her into treating him this way. 

Finding out Peter’s identity had been the cherry on top of a disastrous month, Michelle knowing that if she had found out any other time, she wouldn’t have blown up on him the way that she had. Knowing that, if she had just taken a moment to breathe it all in, to come to her senses before speaking – maybe she wouldn’t have been in this mess. 

Maybe she would have slept in Peter’s bed that night.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been just a kiss in the rain. 

Maybe it could all work out, after all this time. 

She still doesn’t call. Not now. 

But she will, eventually. 

“So are you ready?” Cindy asks, probably for the millionth time because Michelle had been too wrapped up in her feelings about Peter that she’d forgotten she was at work.

“For…” 

Cindy rolls her eyes playfully, but it still makes Michelle feel guilty. “To move. I have the keys to the place now, and I figured you’d want to stop couch surfing.” 

“Right,” Michelle says. “Yes. I’m sorry, Cindy. I’ve just been so out of it.” 

“It’s okay, Michelle. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks. But at least your final draft is almost done,” Cindy smiles, returning back to her computer to get back to work. 

“Mr. Johnson wants to move it to Sunday,” she says. “I just have to tweak the last few things.”

“Spider-Man’s going to want to marry you after that article,” Cindy teases, unaware of the feeling in Michelle’s stomach when she mentions marrying the superhero. Because to Cindy, he’s just a guy in a mask who saves the day, not too different from the other heroes that save New York. 

But to MJ… It’s Peter Parker. 

It’s them.

Peter and MJ, MJ and Peter. 

A story that was left open-ended. A story that she wants to keep writing, but she needs to figure out how before it’s too late. Michelle intends to clear her mind, to walk away from the mess and take herself away from the space that clouds her judgment. So, after she submits her final draft to Mr. Johnson and ends the work day, she grabs the keys from Cindy and makes her way to the apartment to pack the small collection of her belongings from Betty’s and Ned’s, Cindy being gracious enough to lend Michelle her car to make moving easier for her although she didn’t have much. 

She calls her parents during the traffic-filled commute, realizing that she hasn’t once caught them up on anything. To them, she was still engaged to Harry Osborn, still cooped up in the bitter and cold penthouse that never once felt like _ theirs, _still unsuccessfully chasing her dream of being printed on the Sunday paper.

“Hey pumpkin,” her mom answers after a few rings. “You need something?”

“You home?” she asks.

“No, your father and I are doing consulting in Atlanta this weekend, remember?” 

Michelle sighs. Of course they are. “Right. Well, I just need to stop by to grab some stuff.”

“Go ahead, Amorette should be there to let you in.” 

“Right. Thanks,” Michelle pauses, debating whether or not to drop the break-up bomb on her mom over the phone. Her relationship with Harry was the only thing her mother would bring up during a call, but in fairness, it’s the only thing Michelle would bring up, too, not knowing how to talk about any other thing. She likes to keep her life away from her parents unless it’s a big milestone like graduating, getting hired, or the engagement. Everything else is a moot point to them, and to her. “Can we have lunch soon?”

She holds her breath, steadying her voice so her mother doesn’t notice the slight crack in her question.

“Of course we can,” her mom responds before her voice becomes slightly muffled. “No, no we ordered the ‘86 Merlot, not the ‘87.” 

“You sound busy, so we’ll talk later,” Michelle hangs up before her mom can say anything, and as she shoves her phone back into her purse, tears start rolling down her face. She hasn’t cried about her parents since high school. College became the physical distance she needed to distract herself from the poor relationship she had with them, and at the same time, that’s when Peter introduced her to May. 

When she finds herself collecting her things from her temporary place, no one’s home. There’s no sound of Ned typing away on his keyboard or the noise of Channel 5 occupying the silence. She didn’t tell them exactly when she’d be leaving because saying goodbye would only hurt. Michelle will come back, and say her thank you’s later. 

She had gathered her things the night before, already prepared to leave behind the cold emotions she’s experienced in this place. Taking one big look at the room, Michelle considers it to be a triumphant moment in her life, ready to leave behind the negative feelings she’s overcome in the past two weeks. 

She’s proud of herself. Really.

Amorette lets her in like her mother said. Their house hasn’t changed much from her childhood, except her room turned into an extra storage space for her parents to store free products they’d get from their business trips. Her old belongings are still there along with it, a mixture of art supplies, old stuffed animals, and boxes of electronics that her parents don’t look at, but don’t bother to throw away.

There isn’t a particular thing Michelle’s looking for at her parents’ house, something within her making her feel compelled to come back here before moving into a different place. Plus, she’s trying to gather all the items she’d saved from her old college apartment to have things that actually felt like hers in her new apartment. 

She finds extra clothes, old artwork, jewelry, and books to toss in a box doing her best attempt to bring back an old version of herself - the person Michelle came to realize she missed the most in the middle of all of this. 

When she’s looking through the contents under her bed, Michelle comes across a dusty picture frame coated with a blanket of dust. She pulls it out with the intention of using it to frame a photograph of her, Betty, and Ned as a thank you for all that they’ve done for her - if she can find one somewhere in her old boxes. 

As she blows the dirt off the frame, she sees a note on the bottom right of the frame.

_ For your first published New York Times article, because I know you can do it. _

She can’t help but smile or feel the way her heart races when she thinks back to that first Christmas with the Parkers, Ned, and Gwen. How he’d accepted her right away, how he’d encourage her to be around people for the holidays because she had mentioned _ once _that her parents weren’t going to be home that holiday.

Peter has always cared about Michelle. 

She can’t believe it’s taken her this long to feel the love she has for him.

And it’s overwhelming and different and exciting and scary. She has to talk to him, and she plans to do it after she’s settled in tonight – she can’t wait any longer than that. 

But when she gets to her new apartment and gives Peter a call, he doesn’t answer. Another call, but nothing. It’s too late, and he’s had enough of her. Just like she said to him during the storm, Peter wasn’t going to wait for Michelle forever. And she can’t find out what happens next in their story because their story is over now. 

It’s always been bad timing with them, always feeling like she’s missing her flight, always like she’s late for a deadline. When she calls again an hour later, his phone goes straight to voicemail. She doesn’t leave one, wanting to see him in person for her to talk to him about this, about them.

Michelle stops her packing for the night, finding herself laying in bed and replaying every good moment she’s had with Peter – each good moment outweighing the gravity of the bad moments. She thinks about how he’s Spider-Man, about how he never told her that, and how angry it still makes her. It’s an ebb and flow of emotions thinking about where she stands between the two of them, all her thoughts making her more and more stressed out about how she feels. 

She loves Peter, she wants to make it work. But at the same time, she’s worn out from her past, wondering if she even knows herself what love really is – if she’s good at it, if anyone’s ever loved her, hurt by how much Harry’s really fucked her up, how much her parents have fucked her up, and how much her life has just been a combination of feeling like she isn’t enough for anyone. 

She didn’t even let Peter tell his side of the story, and he won’t answer. And it makes her sick all over again, another confirmation of how she’s always just meant to walk away because she’s almost physically unable to commit to anything except for her little forms of escape – her hobbies that let her run away from everyone else and be in her own little world. 

Now that she’s finished hyper-fixating on her article on Spider-Man, Michelle doesn’t know what she’ll use as an outlet to run away from thinking about Peter, about everything. It’s been less than a few hours after completing this tax, and she’s already spiraled into a mess of thoughts that confuse her even more. 

She tries calling Peter again, and there’s no answer. She’s persistent – she wants to talk to him. She needs to tell him everything, and hear everything from him. She’s done with running away, and she wants to manifest positive energy in her life. She thinks about Cindy’s advice about how how self-love isn’t linear, knowing that she’ll be sad again tomorrow, but because this entire day has been productive and eye-opening, she wants to keep her spirits up.

So Michelle calls Ned. 

“Hey, Michelle!” he greets her. “You left before I got home from work.” 

“Sorry, I had to get some last minute edits done after moving in,” she lies. “Um… do you know where Peter is? I tried calling him a bunch of times, and he didn’t answer.” 

“Oh, right…” he mumbles into the phone. “Well I guess I can tell you now since you know. But he’s on a mission this weekend. He won’t be back until Sunday evening.”

“Mission?”

“With the Avengers.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Listen, I know all of this isn’t the most ideal way of how things should be. But you really need to hear his side of the story.”

“I know,” she says, heart melting at the way she and Ned always understand how each other. “If you get in contact with him, can you tell him that I want to talk to him?” 

“Sure,” Ned says.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, MJ – I mean Michelle,” he quickly corrects himself, making Michelle feel guilty for the way she’d thrown herself away. She wants to take the first steps into becoming herself again, akin to the process of letting go of the bad energy that’s been haunting her because of her toxic relationship. It’s time to move on from it, to try to become herself again and let herself appreciate the things in life that ground her. Self-care isn’t linear, but this is a start. 

“It’s okay, Ned. You can call me MJ,” she says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @spideysmjs on Twitter, let's hang out!


	9. the note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Our point is,” Ned starts, “you two just need to sit down and talk to each other. Hash things out. Like what he said in the note.”  
  
Michelle leans back, shocked. “What note?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Michelle rolls over in her bed the next morning, bones popping and muscles stretching from a restless sleep, a sleep eclipsed by the uneasy thought of time slipping away from her opportunity to make mends with Peter for what she hopes will be the last time they’ll have to clear the air between them. 

Her anxiety struck her, stopping her from unpacking the rest of her things – postponing and procrastinating a task that she knows she can accomplish in less than a few hours, but the invisible weight pushing down her convinces her that she can’t do it just yet. 

The morning light seeping through the curtains shines perfectly into her new room, Michelle scanning the jade green walls and seeing a single frame of painted orchids tacked near the sliding closet. It’s clean, almost feeling untouched and cold compared to the bright and tacky decorations in her last room of residence. 

Michelle had gotten used to living with Betty and Ned, their hospitable smiles and willingness to take her in despite the years she’d gone without reaching out – something she never understood from the very moment she ran into Betty at the diner for the first time in years, the moment she had called her the same evening, and every single moment following that, up until this point.

She’d lost sight of the goodness of people, forgetting what it meant to love unconditionally, clouded by the idea that she had to put herself first in every single situation. It’s good to be selfish, and good to be selfless. Michelle had forgotten how to do the latter, how to balance the two in the name of self-love. 

And now, knowing that although she might take a while in _ loving _herself, letting others into her life and letting others help her and love her is a big step in the right direction of what it means to surround yourself with love.

A support system is important, something Michelle hadn’t had in a long time, something Harry forgot how to be, something Betty and Ned were to her those many years ago and now.

Something she wanted to be for Peter, as himself and as the hero she discovered he was. 

Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

There’s something within Michelle that’s embarrassed for not realizing it sooner, thinking back to all the hushed conversations she heard between Peter and Ned in college, or the way Peter dragged his feet through the library late at night, exhausted despite Michelle knowing he’d spend his lectures half-asleep – even the way he spent grieving over the loss of Gwen, not wanting to talk about it but looking so desperate to say _ something_. 

But maybe a part of her always knew, maybe it was the part of her that let the walls around her heart fall down when she looked at him because there was something special about him. She knew he was good, the best good that she had ever met, the good that came from his Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and the good that he chose to surround himself with every single day. 

She was one of those people, too, and Michelle wants to be that person again.

When she steps out into the living room, she finds Cindy dollying a few boxes into the apartment, greeting Michelle with a smile. “Hey, roomie.” 

“Hi,” she says. “Need help?”

“I’m just about done. Have you eaten?” 

Michelle scratches the top of her unkempt hair, curls sprawled in every direction. “I’ve barely done anything since moving in.”

Cindy frowns at her with an air of concern, stopping her task of unloading boxes to walk closer to Michelle, placing a hand on her shoulder. Michelle pulls her close into a hug, surprised at her own willingness to be comforted through an act of love that usually made her feel uneasy. But from being in the presence of Betty and Ned, she’d realized how important human touch could really be for someone who’s in need of affection. 

“I’ll make breakfast,” Cindy squeezes her before pulling away.

She’s washing the plates in the sink, Cindy going straight to work with unpacking and organizing her things and claiming that she needed to make the apartment feel a little more like _ theirs _if they were to live in it for a while. Michelle finishes up, hands a touch wrinkly from the hot water but her feet are warm on the carpet of the apartment and already she knows this place tops the old penthouse palace she was locked away in.

Even the quick thought of Harry Osborn makes Michelle shiver as if everything that happened between the two of them was already ancient history – like she had moved on in a snap, knowing that she put so much effort into the wrong person, that the love between them was restricted and misplaced. 

She’s ready to stop looking for love in the wrong places and find it in the people that made her proud of who she was – Betty, Ned, Cindy, and most importantly, Peter. 

Peter, who’s always looked at her since the moment they met, the boy who was thrilled to have met someone so quickly during college orientation – the boy who welcomed her into his duo with an open heart. 

The boy who’s been through so much, who still goes through so much, but keeps going. 

“Your article gets printed tomorrow,” Cindy dusts off her hands after pushing the boxes into her room. “I’m excited to read it.” 

“Thanks, Cind,” Michelle takes herself out of her trance, plopping onto the couch, “I feel like I’ve been working on it for an eternity now.” 

“It must be a great weight lifted off your chest. I don’t know how you did it, ‘Chelle, with everything you’ve told me. You’re a legend.” 

Michelle smiles. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Cindy throws her hands in the air of the living room. “You need to give yourself credit. You’ve been through hell and back this month, and you damn near wrote your ass off for your first official print.”

Cindy’s words push her to believe in herself in a way she’s forgotten. The Spider-Man assignment came into her life in a time that she needed it, becoming a passion project that she could run away to because writing had a way of making her forget about every damn thing in her life that pushed her through the mud. And discovering that the hero had been Peter all along, though initially infuriating her, made her all the more thankful that he’d saved her more than he knows. 

Maybe the timing between them was never wrong. Maybe it just hadn’t happened yet. Maybe the two of them were timeless. 

“We should celebrate,” Michelle laughs, “before the paper comes out because when I see my name on all of those copies, I’m going to hide and probably never, ever read it.” 

“It’s the writer in you,” Cindy understands. “Let’s go for drinks tonight. To celebrate your article, and our new life together as roommates.” 

“Deal,” Michelle taps her foot, preparing herself to ask another question. “Can we invite some of my friends?” 

Cindy looks to her and grins. “Of course we can.” 

* * *

“Sorry we’re a little late!” Betty and Ned shuffle into the booth across from Cindy and Michelle. “There was a fight that broke out at the subway right by the studio, and then Ned thought it’d be a smart idea for him to try to break it up himself–”

“I did my best until the security showed up!”

“You almost got punched in the eye, babe. Leave it to the superheroes.” 

“Well, technically–” 

“Shh. Let it go,” Betty rests her hand softly on his chest. 

Cindy, mouth agape, nudges Michelle. “Your friend is _ Betty Brant,_ Channel 5’s _ #1 News Reporter?” _

“And she’s my _ fiancé_!” Ned beams. 

“Oh, Ned, stop it,” Betty blushes. “Hi, I’m Betty.”

“Ohmygod,” Cindy grins. “I’m Cindy. I watch Channel 5 all the time. You’re literally the best reporter. You’re so funny.” 

“Cindy,” Michelle shoulders her. 

“Oh, sorry, sorry. I just – wow. Your friends with Betty Brant, you go on rooftop dates with Spider-Man. What’s next?”

“I do not…” Michelle rolls her eyes. “Those were interviews.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

“Well, we’re here to celebrate your housewarming!” Ned grins, changing the subject and giving Michelle a sly wink as she mouths _ thank you _ in return. 

“Yeah, and Michelle’s first print article tomorrow,” Cindy adds as she starts scanning the menu, the others following suit. 

“I’m so proud of you MJ,” Ned says, “I feel like you’ve been working towards this ever since I’ve known you.” 

“Yup,” Michelle bites her lip, still nervous at the prospect of having a spotlight shine down onto her, not used to getting such praise and love all at once, only ever feeling that constant shower of genuine affection from Peter. 

She wishes he was there, with his soft smile pulled back and his hands clasping together to deliver a round of applause as quiet as MJ’s pride in herself among the crowd of friends who are hollering and whooping in strong celebration – Peter always reserves a praise just for her. 

“Here’s to many more, MJ,” Betty smiles. “Let’s get drinks! First round on me.”   
  


A few rounds in, alcohol sludging in her stomach and her coat haphazardly hung from her shoulders – Michelle’s smile is brighter and less hesitant, the idea of her first published article repeated in her head until it starts to feel _ too _real that she starts to consider the potential bad criticisms of readers or worse, Peter.

If Peter isn’t fond of the article about him, the article that she spilled her entire life on – then she’d rather throw the entire Sunday away than face him. 

She wonders where he could be, wonders if he’s thinking of her as he fights crime or completes whatever mission he’d been asked to join, hoping that he doesn’t absolutely despise Michelle for leaving him in the rain without a chance to speak. 

There have been too many times she’s walked away from Peter for him to still keep the fondness that he has for her. And now she’s anxious and drunk and upset at herself for allowing the night to be ruined by her own, unfiltered thoughts. 

Michelle knows she could talk to Ned and somehow coerce him for answers – Ned’s always had a soft spot for her – but Cindy’s there and doesn’t know that all three of them are very good, close friends to Spider-Man. 

She’d implode, probably. 

As if the universe is paying her the smallest favor in return for the ridiculous two weeks she’s been having, Cindy excuses herself to use the restroom. She waits until Cindy’s out of sight to turn back to Ned and Betty, whose smiles fall as soon as Michelle’s does.

“What’s up?” Ned asks. 

“Does Peter hate me?” she blurts. Ned blinks. Betty coughs, placing her cocktail softly on the table. 

“Peter doesn’t hate anyone,” Ned answers. “Least of all, you.” 

“I realize I walked away,” she spins the straw in her drink, “again. And then again. I can’t help but feel like I’ve ruined my chances.” 

“Look,” Ned cracks her knuckles, ready to spill whatever wisdom has brewed up in his head. “Both of you have a shit ton of faults in this.” Michelle nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. “But the biggest fault is time.” 

“What do you mean?”

“MJ, this is six years in the making,” Betty interjects. “I know you’ve had an entire relationship, but you must remember how much of an idiot Peter was towards you before you started dating Harry?”

She remembers. 

“I think we all practically waited for him to tell you something,” Ned adds. “But Harry scared him off a lot.”

“I can’t blame him,” Michelle adds, thoughts boiling in her head about how she’d projected herself onto Harry for the attention that she didn’t receive from Peter, about how that was what drove their relationship that eventually crashed. 

“Our point is,” Ned starts, “you two just need to sit down and talk to each other. Hash things out. Like what he said in the note.”

Michelle leans back, shocked. “What note?”

“There wasn’t a note in your bag of things?” Ned returns. Michelle rubs the bridge of her nose. She didn’t unpack. 

“I haven’t… I haven’t really unpacked.” 

“Oh,” Ned lets out. 

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a note?!” 

“I don’t know! He said that you’d find it!” 

She laughs at Ned, who’s truly trying his best, and at the fact that life has not been the kindest to her, but this – this one note that’s been hidden in her own bag of things – hasn’t quite made her angry, but endeared at the way Peter’s become an expert at popping up in the most miraculous times. 

“What are we talking about?” Cindy slips back into the booth, hands damp from the restroom. 

“I was just saying how I’m getting a little tired,” Michelle fakes a yawn, wanting to race home as quickly as possible so she can read the note. Her leg is shaking.

“Oh, okay,” she turns her wrist, looking at the time. “I didn’t even realize it was past midnight! You guys are so fun.”

Ned and Betty laugh, heads resting against each other. 

“Bye MJ!” Ned chirps. “Can’t wait for your paper tomorrow!” 

* * *

Cindy unlocks their door, opening the door for Michelle first, then following. “Betty and Ned are super cool. How come you’ve never mentioned them before?” 

“Long story,” Michelle kneels on the ground removing her boots. “We were really close in college with this other guy, and Harry, too, actually. And I got caught in between the two, and then it just all fell apart.” 

“Oh,” Cindy racked her brain for further explanation, obvious to Michelle that she wanted to ask more questions, but wanted to respect the barriers. 

“Like I said, long story,” Michelle takes her coat off, the heat of the radiator warming her up. “Six years in the making.” 

“I understand.” 

“But,” Michelle says after plopping on their couch before remembering the reason why she had Cindy race home with her. “The other guy, Peter, he…. He was my best friend. I was so in love with him.”

The words still feel strange as it slips out of her own mouth, admitting the words she’s been afraid to say since she met him, the words that never saw the light of day because she chose someone who she was certain would shower her with the affection she had never experienced before. 

“I kind of am still?”

“You sound unsure,” Cindy laughs. 

“I’m not unsure. I’ve just never really said it out loud. Love is hard.”

Cindy sighs. “It is. But at least you’re closer to it now.” 

“Hopefully,” she rests her head on Cindy’s shoulder. “You’re really good at making me feel better about myself.” 

“When you’ve spent years trying to unlearn the hate you have for yourself, you want to help others find the path to do the same thing,” Cindy returns, honest and raw. “You deserve love, Michelle.”

“Thanks, Cindy,” Michelle nuzzles into Cindy’s neck for a second, then picks herself. “I have to go do something real quick. Peter-related.” 

“Have fun,” she smiles, Michelle already feeling immense love for her new roommate – their friendship already blossoming into something that she can trust. 

* * *

Michelle rummages through her bags, the same ones she’s left untouched for days, the mention of Peter being the one driving force that pushes her to look at the bits of her past that she’d been avoiding. 

There it is, a small cream-colored envelope with Peter’s scribble of her name on the front. She holds the letter, hands shaking as she pulls it out, her heart a heavy thing.

_ Hey MJ, _

_ I don’t like running after you because I know you like to be alone when you’re upset. But I feel like I owe you an explanation. For everything. _

_ It feels almost so miniscule to write it out on a piece of paper, but I am Spider-Man. And I’ve been wanting to tell you since, well, a long time, but there was never a right time, and in college, I thought I had all the time in the world. But then I didn’t. _

_ And I don’t want to make that same mistake again with all of what’s happened, what’s happening, and what’s going to happen between the two of us. There’s something you taught me that really stuck when it comes to freaking out (I’m freaking out right now). You taught me to count to ten, to really take it the gravity of a situation before diving head first – it’s helped and I’ve learned so much, and I wanted to do that right now in a list. I know you like lists. _

_ I hope you like this list. _

_ 1\. the fountain _

_I didn’t meant to run into you that night in the alley, but I did, and I was dressed as Spider-Man. I haven't seen you in years, and the sight of you made my heart stop – like our past hit me all at once, and I couldn’t even process what was happening until you walked away from me at the fountain – the same fountain we’d always eat ice cream at during college with everyone, the same fountain I’d listen to you rant about how no one appreciates mint chocolate chip the way you do. That’s probably not what you were thinking about when you took me there, but that’s all I could think about. _

_2\. the flowers_

_ I sent you them. The ones from the next day. And I was the one who wrote the note to meet Harry at the pub. You see, when you walked away from me that night, on my way home I took a detour to Oscorp – to snoop. I’m not going to lie. But I snooped because from what you told me, I thought he was up to an evil scheme – of the Green Goblin sort. But I found out something else. About someone else. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you as Peter because I thought you didn’t like Peter. But you deserved to know. _

_ 3\. the interview _

_ So I came up with a ridiculous plan. I had Ms. Potts set up the interview because I wanted to see you succeed, and I also wanted to take that opportunity to tell you everything – off the record. But God, the way you smiled and carried yourself, I was so distracted and I missed you so much that I was so afraid of telling you. It was kind of a shitty interview, too. You can be honest with that. _

_ 4\. _ _ the dinner _

_ I kept bothering Ms. Potts to reschedule. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I messed up with telling you. I was mad at myself because I know I kept stalling. I’m sure she’s annoyed at me for how much I bugged her to do this. She asked me why I couldn’t do it myself, and I had no clear answer. I was just nervous. You make me nervous a lot. You did before, you still do now, and I’m sure that – if this turns out well and you still like me – you’ll make me nervous then, too. _

_ And luckily enough, we spoke that day. As us. Peter and MJ. It felt weird, didn’t it? But it felt kind of right. Ned was also being an idiot and kept mentioning Stark. I was so scared you figured it out. Because you’re smart and I’m not very good at keeping secrets. _

_5\. the swing_

_This was another opportunity for me to say something. But Ned told me what your plans were earlier that day, and I didn’t want to make things worse. It was hard. I tried to drop hints, tried to tell you things that I had learned from you years ago, and just hoped that maybe on some higher level that you’d get it because we’ve always been on the same wavelength. _

_I also swung you around the city. I’ve never done that before. I’ve spent years and years swinging around by myself, and it’s something that I never get tired of. But after that night, after spending the day flying around the city with you – every other time I webbed around the sky my hands felt empty without you in them. _

_ I’m sorry it’s cheesy. It’s true, though. _

_ Everything I do, I think about you. I don’t stop thinking about you. _

_ 6\. the coffee _

_Running into you became second nature. I’m convinced that the universe was trying to tell us something. I think everything came into fruition the moment I ran into you at the bar, when you took me to the fountain. Because since then, everything that happened between us came at full force. _

_ When I saw you that night and invited you for coffee, I had full intention of telling you I was Spider-Man. It was so scary, though. Like every part of my life the past few weeks had been leading up to that moment. So I fucked up, and I started with something else – with telling you that I hadn’t stopped thinking about you. And I think I scared you because when I was about to tell you about the Spider-Man thing, you left. _

_ And I didn’t chase after you, because I know you like your space. I didn’t want you to be angry at me. I can’t tell if this was a good choice or not. I’d like to know if it was, if that’s okay with you. _

_ 7\. the storm _

_ You saved my life. Then I saved yours. Then everything happened all at once. Your lips felt so familiar. Felt so right. And then you found out it was me. And you reacted the way I thought you would, but I couldn’t explain myself because you walked away. Rightfully. _

_ I don’t blame you if you hate me, MJ. I’ve put you through hell. It’s not fair to you. But I just wanted you to know that I really have never told anyone. Everyone else found out. And I would have told you years ago, but the only person I ever intended on telling… well it was Gwen. And I didn’t want to tell you because I associated it with something scary. I didn’t want to lose you. It was very likely for that to happen to. I have a lot of enemies. Weird right? _

_ But I didn’t want to end it there. I wanted to fight for this. I’m tired of the wrong timing. Of not being able to talk this through. _

_ 8\. the mission _

_I’m on it right now. It’s not something I can tell you about because I think Stark would chop my head off if I revealed any of the details (during, anyway. Afterwards, when I come back, I can tell you all the cool stuff. If you want). _

_ I’ll be back on Sunday. And I want to talk to you right away, like right when I come back. I don’t want to prolong it anymore. Shoot me a message, if you want to talk that is. _

_ 9\. the article _

_ I’m excited to read it. Whatever you have ready, I’m sure it’ll be so good that I’m going to want to buy like 3742342 copies of it. Even if you want nothing to do with me after reading this, I’ll support you. I’ll always support you. I always have, even if we stopped talking. I read your online posts. They’re good. Thank you for making Queens sound like the best city in the world (It is). _

_ 10\. ... _

_ I’ve run out of things to list out. At this point, I’m rambling. But I wanted to get to ten. And now I feel calm and I’m totally not freaking out anymore. (I am). (But this method works, I promise). _

_ I love you, MJ. And I know you know that I do. And I hate that I have to write it down for you to get it from me for the first time, but I can’t wait anymore. I can’t wait until it’s too late. You’ve waited for me long enough, and I can’t believe you have because this agony is killing me. _

_ I know you’ve been through so much in the past few weeks. I’m part of the reason why. And I’m sorry. And I wish I didn’t have this mission so I could show up on your door step with flowers or tea or something else that you really love because that’s all I want to do. I just want to show you that I won’t stop loving you. But if you don’t feel the same way, then I’ll leave you alone. _

_ But I hope you feel the same way. _

_ Peter.   
_ _(Spider-Man)_

She does. She truly, completely, undeniably does.

* * *

Michelle tosses and turns, eyes blinking in and out of a dream. There’s Peter, who’s holding her hand and leading her through the streets of an empty city. There’s rain, but it’s not a storm. It’s gentle, like Peter’s lips on hers, like the way their hands brush against each other before intertwining.

She jolts awake, her phone ringing through her ears. 

“Hello?” she answers, voice groggy and tired. She had fallen asleep in tears after reading Peter’s note, the letter still clutched in her hand as she drifted off.

“This Michelle Jones?” a deep voice, matter-of-fact and prepared answers. It’s familiar, someone she’s heard before. 

“Yes, and it’s also 4 in the morning? Who is this?” 

“Tony Stark.” 

Michelle straightens her back, rubbing her eyes from exhaustion. “It’s four in the morning.” 

“You said that already. Anyway, Mr. Parker has been repeating your name in his sleep on the way back from the mission. We had to bow out early, he took a pretty bad fall and got knocked unconscious. He’s fine – alive. Just sleeping. And he won’t stop mumbling about you.”

All of Michelle’s sleepiness escapes her body, the thought of Peter in pain pulling her into extreme awareness. “Oh my God. Where are you going?”

“We’re back at the tower. May doesn’t like seeing Peter injured, so we take him here after missions. Feel free to come. Now, later, whenever. He keeps looking for you.”

“Oh.. oh okay.”

“Should we send for a car to you?”

She snorts. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Bye, Ms. Jones.”

A beat. Then she scrambles, putting on a thick coat and her boots, not bothering to change out of her pajamas, the thought of Peter asking for her in his sleep keeping her entire being warm enough as she makes her way to him, her world – Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter :,)
> 
> thanks for sticking with me through this entire thing.
> 
> comments would be great. <3
> 
> https://curiouscat.me/sspideysmj?t=1577736348


	10. this love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to go back to the way things were before,” Michelle blurts out. 
> 
> “Oh,” Peter breathes. “It’s okay. I get it. I should have known it was–” 
> 
> She presses a gentle push on his chest. “You didn’t let me finish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here. The moment I have been anticipating.
> 
> I'm so emotional about this, it's ridiculous. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Michelle doesn’t remember what time she dozed off, only knowing that the dark sky was slowly transitioning into its hazy blue and the sound of traffic began to wake up the moment she rushed into the Stark Tower and found herself on the same floor she had visited when she first interviewed Spider-Man. 

Before having the chance to take in the image of the same hallway after dark, a doctor by the name of Helen Cho approached her, explaining that Peter had been heavily sedated because they needed to stitch up a deep wound from a sharp, metal object that pierced through his leg to speed up his healing process. 

When Tony explained that Peter had a _ bad fall_, but he was fine, he probably didn’t account for the fact that Michelle was merely human and seeing Peter stitched up, bruises up and down his left arm, and a five-inch stitch on his thigh would make her burst into tears.

She curled up in the armchair, scooting it closer to Peter and grazing her hands along his battered up arm, looking at the bruises from his mission, thinking about how many bruises he’s had before and how many he’ll have moving forward. 

Seeing Peter close to broken wasn’t easy to stomach, but then again, a lot of things in life aren’t. And she prefers that – the gritty reality that, whatever Michelle decided to do after that night, her life would change forever. She’d be placed into a world of gods and super soldiers, _ murderers and thieves. _

Shaking her head from the thoughts that haunted her since finding out Peter’s secret identity and saving it for a later conversation, Michelle intertwined her hand in Peter’s, resting her chin on the bed as she waited for him to wake. 

* * *

“We didn’t focus on the origins of his powers, but dove into the responsibility he holds himself accountable for: saving the city – something that he believes in endlessly not because someone told him to do so, but because he _ wants _to. 

“‘If you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen? They happen because of you,’ he told me.”

Michelle blinks herself awake. Her body aches, muscles tight from being tucked in a curled position on an armchair. She sits still, listening to the beautiful, familiar voice echoing the words she poured herself into – words that marked a rewarding and momentous milestone, all going back to Peter. 

He clears his throat before continuing. “But after showcasing his self-manufactured webbing by swinging through the city and we found ourselves on the roof of a skyscraper, Spider-Man unveils the red and blue mask, revealing to me the real hero behind the suit: a day-to-day New Yorker who spends evenings off duty playing Battleship with best friends and weekend mornings walking in the park with his family.

“Spider-Man isn’t perfect. None of us are. But every day, he chooses to be Spider-Man. It’s simple for him, and it should be simple for us to support him. There should be no controversy about his return and no investigation as to why he left. He is New York’s hero, he is human, and being human in the universe that has been revealed to us, is still one of the toughest obstacles to overcome. 

“Our web-slinger does both with grace, and we should all find it in our hearts to support him,” Peter finishes, newspaper open in front of him, blocking his face – his eyes peeking from the top of the pages. 

Michelle can’t help the tug brimming in the corner of her lips as he pulls the paper down – her first printed article. “That’s a killer article. Who wrote it?” 

“Some person named M. Jones,” he squints his eyes to read the byline. “I need to send a thank-you note for making me sounder cooler than I am.” 

She shakes her head. “You’re literally Spider-Man.” 

“And you’re literally Michelle Jones,” he says firmly. “I think you win.” 

When he sets the paper on the nightstand, Michelle gets a complete look of his body, still donning a hospital gown but no longer dressed in bruises and scratches from the night before. Maybe his injuries aren’t too bad, considering he heals overnight, but the thought of Peter getting slammed repeatedly still makes her nauseous. 

“Tony told me he called you,” Peter scratches the back of his neck – a tell that lets Michelle know nerves are creeping up his spine and into his head. “You didn’t have to come.” 

“Well you wouldn’t stop talking about me,” she snorts, a fond look softening on her face as she watches him from the chair. He giggles at her sarcasm and scoots to the edge of the bed, patting the empty space next to him gently. 

“If you want, you can come even closer,” he offers. She gets up, muscles still tense. “Could you hand me a shirt from that bag?” 

She ruffles through the overnight sack, finding an old shirt Michelle can recall from their glory days at NYU and tossing it to him. He doesn’t miss it, clutching the fabric with a reflex so automatic. He rids himself from the gown, Michelle moving to sit at the edge of the bed, feeling as if she’s invading his space watching him undress until she sees a little etching on his hip.

“Is that the tattoo you got when–” 

“–when you got the piercing? Yeah,” he reminisces back to the moment that pushed their friendship further, the same night they’d found themselves in each other's arms on the couch for the first time. 

“For myself,” she reads it. Every obscure feeling of familiarity Michelle experienced with Spider-Man starts falling into place. “I can’t believe I never figured it out.” 

He pops his head through the hole of the shirt. “I’m good at keeping secrets.” 

“You’re absolutely not,” she argues. “I couldn’t tell because you heal fast.” 

“Maybe physically,” he returns, the statement being heavier than he lets on, reminding Michelle of Peter’s darkest moments – the moments that pulled her closer to him and, at the same time, pushed her away from attaching herself too much. It’s the very reason why she could never find the words to tell him how she really felt – how she really feels. 

“How are you now?” she scoots up, yet still closer to the edge of the bed, afraid to close the space between them knowing that it’ll mean absolutely everything when their bodies touch. 

“I could be better,” he starts, “but I’ve been better than how I’ve been most of my life.” 

Somehow it makes sense. Somehow she can relate because she’s looking at Peter, whose eyes are molten brown and as honest as his answer. 

And he’s looking back. 

And it’s everything that she’s been waiting for. 

Six years in the making. 

“I read your note,” she confirms, still holding back from the three words that have been crawling in her mouth waiting for an escape. 

“I hope it wasn’t God awful. I’m not a good writer.” 

She moves closer, twisting her body so she sits next to him, finding the perfect crook on Peter’s side to fit perfectly into. “It was everything.” 

He throws one arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Nothing like your article.” 

“It’s quite possibly better than my article.” 

“Not a chance,” Peter hums, proud of himself for wanting to prove Michelle wrong. Although her limbs are longer than his, passing the end of his legs, she’s tucked underneath Peter with his nose brushing against the top of her head, breathing her in despite the fact that she’s been frantically tossing in her sleep pondering on this very conversation. 

She swallows her fear, clearing her throat to catch his attention. “Peter?”

“Yeah, MJ?” Her chest feels tight, mouth dry – words scrambling in her head as she tries to calculate a sentence that makes sense of her feelings. Somehow only Peter can make her feel like _ this – _shaken up and confused, bursting with emotions that she’s never dreamed of feeling. She’s certain it’s love, and she’s certain she’s felt it from the day they first met despite how cliché it sounds to discover love at first sight because, on that first day, Peter Parker was also the first person to listen to her and give her a chance to become herself. 

“I don’t want to go back to the way things were before,” she blurts out. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “It’s okay. I get it. I should have known it was–” 

She presses a gentle push on his chest. “You didn’t let me finish.” 

“Right, yeah, okay. Sorry.” Peter shuts up, pressing his lips together, already looking like he’s accepted defeat despite the next words that come out of Michelle’s mouth. 

“I don’t want to go back… because back then, you and I were a mess,” she frowns, hands leaving Peter’s body and coming together as they plop on her own lap. He nods with a calm demeanor as he accepts the truth about their past. “And now, I feel like… I feel like we’ve grown. Both of us.” 

“We have,” he pulls her closer, if possible, with the arm thrown over her shoulder. Michelle brings her left arm behind his back, adjusting herself at a position so comfortable, so _ close_. “Except I’m still pretty short.” 

She snorts. “You know what I mean.” 

“Of course I do, MJ.” 

“What I’m trying to say… is,” she sighs in frustration of feeling like her chest is almost physically hindering her from saying the right words. “I’m ready to move on from every wrong thing that happened between the two of us and let go of the bad memories. Because dammit, Peter, if I don’t say it now, I feel like we’re always going to have wrong timing, and the only way to make it _ right _is if–” 

“I love you, MJ."

She stops her stammering, lifting her head up to look into Peter’s eyes. “I know for a fact that a part of me always felt this way. And I will continue to love you every single day if you let me because it’s _ us _.”

“I love you, too, Peter,” she uses her free hand to wipe the tears falling from her face. Peter brings his hand against her cheek and uses his thumb to wipe the trail that she missed. “I’ve loved you for so long that it’s a feeling I’ll never forget because… if there’s anything I’ve learned from the past few weeks, it’s that everything I do leads me back to you.” 

It’s true. She knows it – she feels it so viscerally within her soul that it’s hard to wrap her head around the fact that the signs in her life have always pointed to the brown-haired boy she fell in love with at 18, the boy she didn’t think would ever love her back ended up being the boy who taught her what love is. 

Love is the feeling she can’t explain when she looks into Peter’s eyes, never feeling lost and only feeling found. It’s the feeling that seeps into her very skin when she brushes her body against his. And the feeling is terrifying because never in her life did Michelle think she could feel this way about someone, and more so, that someone could ever feel this way for her.

Michelle straightens up from their now tangled limbs, leaning against the headboard and mirroring his body. The sunlight seeps through the windows of the tower, filling the modern-looking space with a warmth that increases Michelle’s desire to gaze into Peter’s eyes.

So she looks at him, and he looks at her – the level of happiness in their soft smiles high enough to remove sadness away from the world. Michelle lays a hand on his shoulder and pulls him in, and Peter brings his own hands to first lift her chin, then cup her face as their lips press against each other, soft and quick. 

This kiss doesn’t feel the same. Not at all. Michelle and Peter have become versions of themselves that they’re proud of, versions of themselves that no longer hold back from being the best that they can be while loving everyone around them. It’s a version that they’ve discovered and chosen because of each other – so different from when they first saw each other and said hello.

Because they’ve learned and loved and lost. 

Michelle presses another, deeper kiss onto Peter’s lips and she feels his arms scoop her from behind trying to close in on the gap that’s already missing because they’re skin to skin but Peter can’t seem to get enough of her, and neither can she because being here with him at this moment feels like everything that it’s supposed to feel.

Like home. 

Like it’s them.

MJ and Peter, Peter and MJ. 

And, really, truly _nothing_ _else_ can top that feeling. 

* * *

MJ unlocks the door to her apartment after a particularly rough day of overtime at work because after writing an article that received positive feedback from the people of New York City, Mr. Johnson has piled new ideas on her desk for the past three weeks. 

When she turns on the lights, she hears party favors breaking the silence and darkness of the living room, seeing her best friends pop out from behind the couch and Peter slides in his socks across the wooden floor scooping her up to spin her around. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on her cheek. 

“It’s not my birthday yet,” she can’t help but smile at the over-decorated living room as she sees the big 2 and 4 balloons in each of Ned’s hands. 

“But you hate celebrating your birthday, so we decided to celebrate the day before,” Ned cheeses. Betty steps forward, engulfing Michelle in her arms like she always does. Michelle can smell a hint of Chanel No. 5 lingering on Betty’s neck. 

Cindy hands MJ a bottle of champagne to pop. “It’s just us, don’t worry.” 

“You are all I know,” MJ states, and despite how small of a circle she has in her life, it’s been more than enough to keep her heart pumping. 

“Us, and…” Peter backs up into the kitchen, MJ tilting her head in the curiosity of who else it could be, but of course, it’s Aunt May. 

She wiggles her body as she nearly charges at MJ, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I didn’t cook.” 

They all laugh, settling into the living room to gather around MJ and sing (not very in tune) happy birthday to her. They open presents – Betty gifting her a robe for self-care, Cindy handing her a bullet journal to keep track of her well-being, May giving her a hand-knit sweater, and Peter and Ned splitting on a coupon for a very expensive massage because she’s been complaining about her back from the long hours at work.

Though she is slightly disappointed that Peter didn’t look for a gift himself, she shakes that idea off, knowing it’s only been about a month since they’ve officially started dating and he probably planned the entire surprise anyway.

The rest of the evening is spent doing what they do best: a game night combined with drinking, and May sipping on her favorite red wine as she makes commentary on all of their plays. Once in a while, MJ looks at her friends knowing her life is lighter with all of them in it – knowing that she can and will do anything to continue keeping them in her life and officially ridding herself of the old ideas embedded in her brain that she needed to survive on her own.

She looks at all of them and is content with herself, and even if she might falter backward she knows she’ll get back up again. 

Just like her favorite superhero. 

When the end of their celebration comes to, May is the first to shuffle out as Cindy greets them all goodnight before going into her bedroom, followed by Ned and Betty who were two surprisingly competitive people, to MJ’s entertainment. 

The living room is quiet once more, but the love is still there even as she closes the front door, sighing at how everything has truly taken a turn for the better for once in her life. She turns the lock and feels arms wrap around her waist and kisses pressed to her neck. 

“Hey, Tiger,” she giggles, turning around and hugging Peter. Her boyfriend. 

“Close your eyes,” he says and she follows. “Hold out your hands.”

She makes a cup out of her hands. “You’re going to kidnap me.” 

“Yup,” he answers dryly, but instead she feels him drop a little box, and as she opens her eyes, the cover is already off, revealing a flower-shaped glass necklace in black, her favorite color. “You didn’t think I’d end the night without a real gift, right?” 

He smirks. Peter’s questions sound familiar, yet MJ knows the night is going to end differently than the first time she uttered the same words years ago. 

MJ sets the necklace down on the desk by the door, wrapping her arms around Peter’s neck and jumping into the hug. He supports her legs with his arms beneath her thighs as she places a kiss to his lips. She presses her forehead against his, looking into his eyes. 

“You’re all I ever want to look at,” she says. 

“I love you, MJ,” Peter laughs.

“I know,” she winks at him, “and I love you, too.” 

And she knows deep within her that this moment – Peter holding Michelle with her legs wrapped around his waist and her heart stitched on her sleeve – won’t be the last. 

Not at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. 
> 
> I hope you appreciate the fluff at the end. And I hope you loved this fic as much as I loved writing it. 
> 
> Thank you all for the endless feedback I've gotten throughout this entire thing. It's my first multi-chapter, and first ever fic I started working on in this wonderful fandom, so I'm sorry if I'm being overdramatic about this whole ending. 
> 
> Love y'all! Kudos and comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> (Twitter: @spideysmjs)


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